[II-7] Smoke as much as you please; I have got my pipe, too.--See what a beautiful head! CHAPTER XII. DISCUSSION. I will converse with iron-witted fools And unrespective boys--none are for me That look into me with suspicious eyes. _Richard III._ "How now, Jekyl!" said Lord Etherington, eagerly; "what news from the enemy?--Have you seen him?" "I have," replied Jekyl. "And in what humour did you find him?--in none that was very favourable, I dare say, for you have a baffled and perplexed look, that confesses a losing game--I have often warned you how your hang-dog look betrays you at brag--And then, when you would fain brush up your courage, and put a good face on a bad game, your bold looks always remind me of a standard hoisted only half-mast high, and betraying melancholy and dejection, instead of triumph and defiance." "I am only holding the cards for your lordship at present," answered Jekyl; "and I wish to Heaven there may be no one looking over the hand." "How do you mean by that?" "Why, I was beset, on returning through the wood, by an old bore, a Nabob, as they call him, and Touchwood by name." "I have seen such a quiz about," said Lord Etherington--"What of him?" "Nothing," answered Jekyl, "except that he seemed to know much more of your affairs than you would wish or are aware of. He smoked the truth of the rencontre betwixt Tyrrel and you, and what is worse--I must needs confess the truth--he contrived to wring out of me a sort of confirmation of his suspicions." "'Slife! wert thou mad?" said Lord Etherington, turning pale; "His is the very tongue to send the story through the whole country--Hal, you have undone me." "I hope not," said Jekyl; "I trust in Heaven I have not!--His knowledge is quite general--only that there was some scuffle between you--Do not look so dismayed about it, or I will e'en go back and cut his throat, to secure his secrecy." "Cursed indiscretion!" answered the Earl--"how could you let him fix on you at all?" "I cannot tell," said Jekyl--"he has powers of boring beyond ten of the dullest of all possible doctors--stuck like a limpet to a rock--a perfect double of the Old Man of the Sea, who I take to have been the greatest bore on record." "Could you not have turned him on his back like a turtle, and left him there?" said Lord Etherington. "And had an ounce of lead in my body for my pains? No--no--we have already had footpad work enough--I promise you the old buck was armed, as if he meant to bing folks on the low toby."[II-8] "Well--well--But Martigny, or Tyrrel, as you call him--what says he?"