He spoke ferociously, but on the instant, seeing my eye caught by something lying on that part of the table his body had covered, dived for it and had it in his grasp. Then with a backward sweep of his hand he closed the cabinet doors and stood facing me. “Now, sir,” he said. “Dr. Crackenthorpe,” I answered, “you won’t bully me away from my purpose. I’m a better man than you, and a stronger, I believe; but I won’t begin by threatening.” “And that’s very kind,” he put in mockingly. “Still we’d better come to business, don’t you think?” “I’m coming to it and straight. What’s that you’ve got in your hand?” “What I intend to keep there. Is that all?” “It’s a cameo you stole from my father. Don’t take the trouble to deny it.” “I don’t take any trouble on your account, my good fellow. It’s a cameo, as you very properly observe, but it happens to belong to me.” “By thieving, I’ll swear. Now, Dr. Crackenthorpe, I intend to make you disgorge that cameo, together with one or two other trifles you’ve coerced my father into handing over to you.” “No?” he said, in the same jeering tone. “Further than that, I intend to put a stop here and at once to that blackmailing process you’ve carried on for a number of years.” “Blackmailing’s a very good word. It implies a reciprocity of interests. And how are you going to do all this?” “You shall hear at the assizes, maybe.” He gave a laugh--quite rich for him; walked to the table, picked up deliberately the coins lying strewn there; stepped to the cabinet, deposited all therein; shut and locked it, and put the key in his pocket. “Now, Mr. Bookbinder,” he said, facing me again, “you’ve a very pretty intelligence; but you’ve not acquired in London that knowledge of the nine points of the law without which the tenth is empty talk. Here’s a truism, also, that’s escaped your matured observation, and it’s called ‘be sure of your facts before you speak.’” “Am I not?” I cried, contemptuously. “We’ll see. Even a Crichton may suffer trifling lapses of memory. Let me lead yours back to that melancholy morning of your departure from the parent nest. Let me recall to you the gist of a few sentences that passed between your father and myself prior to the advent of your amiable brother, who was so hard on you. Some mention of a lost trifle was made then, I believe, and permission given me to keep it if I happened to alight upon it. Wasn’t that so?” “I can remember something of the sort,” I muttered, gloomily. “Ah, so far so good. Now, supposing that lost trifle were the very trinket your most observant eyes just now caught sight of?--I don’t say it was; but we will presume so, for the sake of argument--supposing it were, should I not be entitled to consider it my own?” “You may be lying,” I said, angrily. “Probably you are. Where did you find it?” “That is as much outside the question as your very offensive manner.”