Foxwell’s only weapon at the moment was his sword; he had left his pistols outside in the holsters, thinking to spend but a minute in Thornby Hall and foreseeing no need of them there. He perceived from Everell’s manner of handling the pistols that the young man was of perfect assurance in their use. The same circumstance found speedy way to the mind of Thornby, who was unarmed. So the two gentlemen stood as they were requested. Foxwell, for want of a better temporizing answer, feigned to yield with a good grace, saying: “You present so strong an argument, that I know not how to oppose you.” “I fear if the pistol were my only argument,” said Everell, calmly, “my victory would end as soon as my back was turned. I will try an argument that may have more lasting effect. Miss Foxwell, I must bid you pull out this drawer of the table,—stay where you are, Mr. Thornby!—which the owner has carelessly left open.” Everell moved a step to the side, giving Georgiana closer access to the drawer. She obeyed in wonder, for she had overheard little of the talk while she was in the closet, and nothing of Thornby’s allusion to that in the drawer which gave the power of keeping Mr. Robert Foxwell in his place. Everell now told her to empty the contents of the drawer upon the table, and to spread them out so that each document might be seen. “Not a step, Mr. Thornby! You, Mr. Foxwell, come near enough to see if there be anything of interest to you. That will do—no farther! Look carefully.” Foxwell’s keen eye had already begun to range the various papers as they lay separately exposed. Suddenly he uttered a quick “Ah!” and stepped forward, reaching out. Everell checked him by a sharp “Back!” and a movement of the pistol; then followed with his glance the line of the extended arm. “Miss Foxwell,” said Everell, “be good enough to take up the paper your uncle reached for. ’Twill be one of those three the shadow falls athwart,—the shadow of the wine-bottle;—ay, those.—Don’t move, Mr. Thornby.—Open them out, Georgiana, and hold them where I can see. H’m; apparently a legal document concerning one William Hardy. The next, please: ‘a new cure for the glanders.’ The other: a letter signed ‘R. Foxwell.’—Back, Mr. Foxwell. Is that all you see here of importance to you?—Mr. Thornby, if you take a step toward the door—! Is that all, Mr. Foxwell? I will not read it unless I am forced to.” “That is all,” replied Foxwell, “and ’tis something Mr. Thornby has no right to possess. I ask you, as a man of honour, to restore it to me.” “In proper time, sir. Meanwhile, Miss Foxwell, fold the paper as it was, and place it in my waistcoat pocket.—’Tis well done; though I dare not thank you, for you do this under compulsion.” “By the Lord, sir,” Thornby burst out at last, “this here’s robbery, sir!—rank robbery under arms! You may carry it off for the moment—I’m not moving, I’m only warning you, for your own good—but this sort of thing is bound to end in a halter, sir.”