O’Hagan placed his cane upon a chair, and raised the monocle. “Do you contemplate an attack?” he asked, with a kind of pleased surprise. Repton dropped into an armchair, and sank his face in his hands. His inflamed nose robbed the scene of a certain pathos which otherwise had found place there. “You will sit at your desk,” said O’Hagan, “and write a note to the new editor of the _Universe_ informing him that Mr. Bruce McIvor will be his leader-writer.” Repton was galvanised. He started up; clutched the chair-arms. “I shall not! Your damned interference in my affairs——” His voice broke. “Very well.” O’Hagan took up his cane. “The alternative is equally pleasing to me.” “Look here!” Repton was on his feet again, hands twitching. “I’ve got no chance with you! You’re a bully!——” “I warn you that I regard those words as a new insult. Indeed, that is the greatest insult of all. Should you term one a bully who sued you for slander?” O’Hagan’s eyes were bright. “Learn, that when you insult a gentleman, the choice of weapons is his! The law is a weapon for those who cannot fight their own battles, not for such as I!” Ah! what would you have given to have heard him deliver that speech? But you cannot even picture him, head aloft, foot advanced; hear the ringing voice; quail before the flashing eye. Repton wrote. “Now, a letter to McIvor, giving him the appointment at the same salary as his predecessor.” Repton grasped at the desk. The ferrule of O’Hagan’s cane tapped upon the writing-pad. “At the same salary as his predecessor, Mr. Repton.” The note was written. “Ring up all your fellow-directors, or all whom you can,” ordered the Captain, “and tell them of this appointment.” Repton hesitated. To comply was to burn his boats. The cane quivered in O’Hagan’s nervous grasp. “It’s irregular. It may be annulled at Wednesday’s meeting.” “If it is annulled I shall thrash you in public, when and where I next meet you. You will be at liberty to take what steps you please.” Lifting the receiver from the hook, Sidney Repton made several calls, briefly communicating to those who ruled the _Universe_ that Mr. Bruce McIvor was a desirable acquisition to the literary staff. He was vanquished. In aught save exact compliance he saw ridicule—the contempt of Fleet Street. He turned to O’Hagan, pale faced, eyes flaming. Words trembled unspoken upon his tongue. “Stop!” O’Hagan spoke the word imperiously, and raised his hand. “You have bought immunity,” he continued, “in respect of your insults from ‘overdressed puppy’ to ‘bully.’ Any you may utter henceforward I shall deal with separately.” He strode toward the door; turned in a flash . . . and struck a revolver out of Repton’s hand. Stooping, he picked it from the carpet. “I shall consider my action in the matter of this murderous assault, Mr. Repton,” he said icily. “My behaviour will largely depend upon your own.”