’What I say,—­I believe that that Oriental friend of yours has got her in her clutches,—­if it is a “her;” goodness alone knows what the infernal conjurer’s real sex may be.’

‘Atherton!—­Explain yourself!’

On a sudden Lessingham’s tones rang out like a trumpet call.

’If damage comes to her I shall be fit to cut my throat,—­and yours!’

Mr Lessingham’s next proceeding surprised me,—­I imagine it surprised Atherton still more.  Springing at Sydney like a tiger, he caught him by the throat.

’You—­you hound!  Of what wretched folly have you been guilty?  If so much as a hair of her head is injured you shall repay it me ten thousandfold!—­You mischief-making, intermeddling, jealous fool!’

He shook Sydney as if he had been a rat,—­then flung him from him headlong on to the floor.  It reminded me of nothing so much as Othello’s treatment of Iago.  Never had I seen a man so transformed by rage.  Lessingham seemed to have positively increased in stature.  As he stood glowering down at the prostrate Sydney, he might have stood for a materialistic conception of human retribution.

Sydney, I take it, was rather surprised than hurt.  For a moment or two he lay quite still.  Then, lifting his head, he looked up his assailant.  Then, raising himself to his feet, he shook himself,—­ as if with a view of learning if all his bones were whole.  Putting his hands up to his neck, he rubbed it, gently.  And he grinned.

’By God, Lessingham, there’s more in you than I thought.  After all, you are a man.  There’s some holding power in those wrists of yours,—­they’ve nearly broken my neck.  When this business is finished, I should like to put on the gloves with you, and fight it out.  You’re clean wasted upon politics,—­Damn it, man, give me your hand!’

Mr Lessingham did not give him his hand.  Atherton took it,—­and gave it a hearty shake with both of his.

If the first paroxysm of his passion had passed, Lessingham was still sufficiently stern.

’Be so good as not to trifle, Mr Atherton.  If what you say is correct, and the wretch to whom you allude really has Miss Lindon at her mercy, then the woman I love—­and whom you also pretend to love!—­stands in imminent peril not only of a ghastly death, but of what is infinitely worse than death.’

‘The deuce she does!’ Atherton wheeled round towards me.  ’Champnell, haven’t you got that dashed hat of yours yet?  Don’t stand there like a tailor’s dummy, keeping me on tenter-hooks,—­ move yourself!  I’ll tell you all about it in the cab.—­And, Lessingham, if you’ll come with us I’ll tell you too.’

CHAPTER XXXVI

WHAT THE TIDINGS WERE