The other nodded. "Yes," he observed, "we must all be thankful for that. It would have been a rotten thing for the Club if he'd broken his neck." He turned away, and following suit, Tony suddenly found himself face to face with the Marquis da Freitas, and his royal master, who had apparently stepped forward in order to learn the news. The Marquis appeared as suave as ever, but anything more sulky looking than His Majesty it would have been difficult to imagine. Da Freitas bowed with the faintest ironical exaggeration. "Permit me to congratulate you, Sir Antony. Your victory is indeed crushing." Tony regarded him with his usual amiable smile. "Thanks," he said. "I am awfully glad your man isn't seriously hurt. It was bad luck his running into a punch like that." He turned to Pedro. "You can have a return match you know any time, if you care about it." His Majesty scowled. "I will see him dead before I back him again," he observed bitterly. The Marquis da Freitas showed his white teeth in a polite smile. "I fear you are rather too strong for us in the boxing-ring, Sir Antony. Perhaps some day we may find a more favourable battle-ground." "I hope so," said Tony. "I rather like having a shade of odds against me. It's so much more interesting." He nodded cheerfully to the pair of them, and moving off from the ring-side began to make his way across the hall. It was slow work, for friends kept on pulling him up with boisterous words of congratulation, while several of them made strenuous endeavours to persuade him to join a party at some neighbouring night club, to which they were going on for supper. Tony, however, declined the invitation on the plea of a previous engagement. As he had told Guy at dinner it was his invariable custom after a successful fight to take Bugg out to Shepherd's, the celebrated oyster bar in Coventry Street--a resort much frequented by gentlemen of pugilistic and sporting tastes. The simple-minded Tiger had not many weaknesses, but on these occasions it afforded him such extreme pleasure to be seen therewith his patron, that Tony wouldn't have missed gratifying him for the most festive supper party in London. On reaching the dressing-room he found Bugg fully clothed and in the centre of a small levee of pressmen and fellow pugilists. McFarland, immensely in his element, was dispensing champagne to the visitors, and explaining how very lately his own unrivalled training methods had contributed to the result. Tony stopped and chatted amiably for a few minutes until he could manage to extract Bugg from the centre of his admirers. When at last they succeeded in getting away they slipped out quietly by the side door of the Club in order to avoid the crowd who were still hanging about the front, and with a breath of relief found themselves in the cool night air of Long Acre. Tony lit a cigarette and offered one to his companion.