That's the kind of man Lord Stansford
is. I told you I should expose you. Now I am going to tell the others."
Lord Stansford's face was as white as paper. His teeth were clinched,
and taking one quick step forward, he smote Heckle fair between the two
eyes and felled him to the ground.
"You cur!" he cried. "Get up, or I shall kick you, and hate myself ever
after for doing it."
Young Heckle picked himself up, cursing under his breath.
"I'll settle with you, my man," he cried; "I'll get a policeman. You'll
spend the remainder of this night in the cells."
"I shall do nothing of the sort," answered Lord Stansford, catching him
by both wrists with an iron grasp. "Now pay attention to me, Billy
Heckle: you feel my grip on your wrist; you felt my blow in your face,
didn't you? Now you go into the house by whatever back entrance there
is, go to your room, wash the blood off your face, and stay there,
otherwise, by God, I'll break both of your wrists as you stand here,"
and he gave the wrists a wrench that made the other wince, big and
bulky as he was.
"I promise," said Heckle.
"Very well, see that you keep your promise."
Young Heckle slunk away, and Lord Stansford turned to Miss Linderham,
who stood looking on, speechless with horror and surprise.
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