“I hope that LaHume will have the sense not to pick a quarrel with Wallace,” I said, pointing in his direction.  “He is excited and—­and nervous.”

“Why don’t you say it—­intoxicated,” drawled Carter.

LaHume had reached the professional and his pupil.  We saw Wallace lift his cap as LaHume came within a few yards of them.  The latter stopped, and though the trio was quite a distance away, we could plainly hear LaHume’s voice, but could not make out the words.  Wallace made a deprecatory gesture and Miss Lawrence drew herself up and faced LaHume in an attitude of scorn.

I noted that LaHume was gesticulating with his left hand, and that his right arm was lowered and to his back.  He kept edging closer to Wallace.

Of a sudden LaHume’s right hand swung out and he made a vicious lunge at Wallace.  I saw the latter throw up his guard, but it was too far away to tell if the blow had landed.  There was a struggle for a second or two, then Wallace pushed him clear, and like lightning I saw his left hand swing across to LaHume’s stomach.  LaHume was shot back several yards and fell heavily, his feet in the path and his head and shoulders on the turf.

It all happened so quickly that we stood there, spellbound.  We saw Miss Lawrence rush forward and half fall into Wallace’s arms.  We saw him stagger to a lawn settee, she still clinging to him and screaming.  LaHume lay as if dead.

These latter details I noticed as Carter and I were running toward them.

Wallace was on his feet before we reached him.  He was attempting to calm Miss Lawrence who was moaning, “He has killed him; he has killed him!” I knew she feared for Wallace, but I was much more apprehensive as to the fate of LaHume.

Blood was trickling down the face of the young Scotchman, and its red had stained a handkerchief which Miss Lawrence had pressed to his scalp above his left temple.  It was the sight of this which frightened her, but she comported herself with as much bravery as would most women under similar circumstances.

“I’m not much hurt,” declared Wallace with a reassuring smile.  “It’s only a scratch on the scalp.  Miss Lawrence is more alarmed than I am injured.  I assure you it is nothing.”

“LaHume struck him with a knife!” exclaimed Miss Lawrence, recovering her nerve as a wave of anger came to her.  “He called Mr. Wallace a coward and a cad, and when Mr. Wallace tried to calm him he struck at him with a knife.  Oh, I hope you have killed him!”

[Illustration:  “LaHume was shot back several yards”]

“I’m afraid your hope is realised,” said Carter, bending over the inert form of LaHume.

“Small fear of that,” said Wallace, but I detected a note of apprehension in his voice.  “I aimed to disable without seriously injuring him.”

As he spoke LaHume moved, groaned and half raised himself.  In the meantime a group had gathered, and in it was Doctor Barry, a member of the club.  LaHume was conscious but completely dazed.  We were much relieved when the doctor said that he was not permanently injured.  Ordering two of the servants to take LaHume to the club house and put him to bed, Doctor Barry turned his attention to Wallace.