His words broke the spell. There was no longer any mystery in the situation. The condemnatory pieces of evidence were there, Clyffurde's connection with de Marmont was well known--the plot had become obvious. Here was an English adventurer--an alien spy--who had obviously been paid to do this dirty work for the usurper, and--as Maurice now concluded airily--he must be made to give up the money which he had stolen before he be handed over to the military authorities at Lyons and shot as a spy or a thief--Maurice didn't care which: the whole thing was turning out far simpler and easier than he had dared to hope. "You know quite well why I am here," he now said, roughly. "Of a truth, for the moment I was taken by surprise, for I had not thought that a man who had been honoured by the friendship of M. le Comte de Cambray and of his family was a thief, as well as a spy." "And now," said Clyffurde, still smiling and apparently quite unperturbed, "that you have been enlightened on this subject to your own satisfaction, may I ask what you intend to do?" "Force you to give up what you have stolen, you impudent thief," retorted the other savagely. "And how are you proposing to do that, M. de St. Genis?" asked the Englishman with perfect equanimity. "Like this," cried Maurice, whose exasperation and fury had increased every moment, as the other man's assurance waxed more insolent and more cool. "Like this!" he cried again, as he sprang at his enemy's throat. A past master in the art of self-defence, Clyffurde--despite his wounded arm--was ready for the attack. With his left on guard he not only received the brunt of the onslaught, but parried it most effectually with a quick blow against his assailant's jaw. St. Genis--stunned by this forcible contact with a set of exceedingly hard knuckles--fell back a step or two, his foot struck against some object on the floor, he lost his balance and measured his length backwards across the bed. "You abominable thief . . . you . . ." he cried, choking with rage and with discomfiture as he tried to struggle to his feet. But this he at once found that he could not do, seeing that a pair of firm and muscular knees were gripping and imprisoning his legs, even while that same all-powerful left hand with the hard knuckles had an unpleasant hold on his throat. "I should have tried some other method, M. de St. Genis, had I been in your shoes," came in irritatingly sarcastic accents from his calm antagonist. Indeed, the insolent rogue did not appear in the least overwhelmed by the enormity of his crime or by the disgrace of being so ignominiously found out. From his precarious position across the bed St. Genis had a good view of the rascal's finely knit figure, of his earnest face, now softened by a smile full of kindly humour and good-natured contempt.