“I won’t leave the premises till you have had your turn,” he said.  “I guess that’s a fair offer anyway.  Now curl up and rest.”

But Lucas negatived the suggestion instantly though very quietly.  “I’ll take my turn now if you’ve no objection.  That ranch in Arizona, Boney, is beginning to worry me some.  I want you to take it in hand.  It’s a little job peculiarly suited to your abilities.”

Nap jerked up his head with an odd gesture, not solely indicative of surprise.  “What do you know of my abilities?”

“More than most.”  Very steadily Lucas made answer.  “I depend on you in a fashion you little dream of, and I guess you won’t fail me.”

Nap’s jaw slowly hardened.  “I’m not very likely to disappoint you,” he observed, “more especially as I have no intention of removing to Arizona at present.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Not if I make a point of it?” Lucas spoke heavily, as if the effort of speech were great.  His hand had clenched upon Anne’s letter.

Nap leaned forward without replying, the sunlight still shining upon his face, and looked at him attentively.

“Yes,” Lucas said very wearily.  “It has come to that.  I can’t have you here disturbing the public peace.  I won’t have my own brother arraigned as a murderer.  Nor will I have Anne Carfax pilloried by you for all England to throw mud at.  I’ve stood a good deal from you, Boney, but I’m damned if I’m going to stand this.”

“The only question is, Can you prevent it?” said Nap, without the faintest change of countenance.

“I am going to prevent it.”

“If you can.”

“I am going to prevent it,” Lucas repeated.  “Before we go any further, give me that shooter of yours.”

Nap hesitated for a single instant, then, with a gesture openly contemptuous, he took the revolver from his pocket and tossed it on to the bed.

Lucas laid his hand upon it.  He was looking full into Nap’s face.  “Now, I want you to tell me something,” he said.  “I seem to remember your saying to me once in this very room that you and Lady Carfax were friends, no more, no less.  You were mighty anxious that I shouldn’t misunderstand.  Remember that episode?”

“Perfectly,” said Nap.

“I surmised that you told me that because you honestly cared for her as a friend.  Was that so?”

Nap made a slight movement, such a movement as a man makes when he catches sight of a stone to his path too late to avoid it.

“You may say so if you wish,” he said.

“Meaning that things have changed since then?” questioned Lucas, in his tired drawl.

Nap threw up his head with the action of a jibbing horse.  “You can put it how you like.  You can say—­if you like—­that I am a bigger blackguard now than I was then.  It makes no difference how you put it.”

“But I want to know,” said Lucas quietly.  “Are you a blackguard, Boney?”