"Then, Mr. Morrice Buckler, of the county of Cumberland," he began, with an exaggerated politeness. But I broke in upon him. "I have some knowledge of the county of Bristol, too," I said, with as much bravado as I could muster. But 'twas no great matter. The display would have disgraced a tavern bully. The words, however, served their turn. Just for a second, just long enough for me to perceive it, a startled look of fear flashed into his eyes, and his body seemed to shrink in bulk. Then he asked suddenly: "How came you here?" "By a path Sir Julian Harnwood told me of," says I. He stretched a finger towards the window. "Go!" he cried in a low voice. "Go!" I stood my ground, for I noted with a lively satisfaction that the quaver had passed from my voice into his. "Have a care, Master Buckler!" he continued. "You are no longer in England. You would do well to remember that. There are reasons why I would have no disturbance here to-night. There are reasons. But on my life, if you refuse to obey me, I will have you whipped from here by my servants." "Ah!" says I, "this is not the first time, Count Lukstein, that some one has stood between you and the bell." He cast a glance over my shoulder. I saw that he was going to shout, and I whipped out the pistol from my pocket. "If you shout," I said, "the crack of this will add little to the noise." "It would go ill with you if you fired it," he blustered. "It would go yet worse with you," I answered. And there we stood over against one another, the finest brace of cowards in Christendom, each seeking to overcome the other by a wordy braggadocio. Indeed, my forefinger so trembled on the trigger that I wonder the pistol did not go off and settle our quarrel out of hand. "What does it mean?" he burst out, screwing himself to a note of passion. "What does it mean? You skulk into my house like a thief." "The manner of my visit does in truth leave much to be desired," I conceded. "But for that you must thank your reputation." "It does, in truth," he returned, ignoring my last words. "It leaves much--very much. You see that yourself, Mr. Buckler. So, to-morrow! Return by the way you came, and come to me again tomorrow. We can talk at leisure. It is over-late to-night." "Nay, my lord," said I, drawing some solid comfort from the wheedling tone in which he spake. "Your servants will be abroad in the house tomorrow, and, as you were careful to remind me, I am not in England. I have waited for some six hours upon the parapet of your terrace, and I have no mind to let the matter drag to another day." His eyes shifted uneasily about the room; but ever they returned to the shining barrel of my pistol. "Well, well," said he at length, with a shrug of the shoulders, and a laugh that rang flat as a cracked guinea, "one must needs listen when the speaker holds a pistol at your head. Say your say and get it done."