her?’ He looked at me and I suppose he decided that I was telling the truth.  ‘Your wife,’ he said slowly, ’is looking for trouble.  I’m not sure that it hasn’t come.  You know she was a friend of Rosario—­Rosario the Jew?’ ‘I know that they were acquainted,’ I said.  He laughed then, and I began to hate the fellow, Chetwode.  ‘It was your wife,’ he said, ’for whom Rosario wanted that title.  She could have stopped him—­’ Then he broke off, Chetwode.  ’But I don’t suppose you understand these things,’ he said.  ’You’d better just understand this, though.  I am here to have a little explanation with Mrs. Weatherley.  I have a message for her, and she’s got to hear it from my own lips.  When I’ve finished with her, I want her brother, and when I’ve finished with him, I want the young man who was here the other night.  It’s no good saying he’s not here now, because I saw him start.’”

Mr. Weatherley paused and felt his forehead.

“All the time, Chetwode,” he went on, “I was watching the fellow, and it began to dawn upon me that he was there to do her some mischief.  I didn’t understand what it was all about but I could see it in his face.  He was an ill-looking ruffian.  I remembered then that Fenella had been frightened by some one hanging about the house, more than once.  Well, there he was opposite to me, Chetwode, and by degrees I’d been moving a little nearer to him.  He was after mischief—­I was sure of it.  What should you have done, Chetwode?”

“I am not quite sure,” Arnold answered.  “What did you do?”

“We’re coming to that,” Mr. Weatherley declared, leaning a little forward.  “We’re coming to that.  Now in that open case, close to where I was, my wife had some South American curios.  There was a funny wooden club there.  The end was quite as heavy as any lead.  I caught hold of it and rushed in upon him.  You see, Chetwode, I was quite sure that he meant mischief.  If Fenella had come in, he might have hurt her.”

“Exactly,” Arnold agreed.  “Go on, sir.”

“Well, I gripped the club in my right hand,” Mr. Weatherley explained, seizing a ruler from the table, “like this, and I ran in upon him.  I took him rather by surprise—­he hadn’t expected anything of the sort.  He had one shot at me and missed.  I felt the bullet go scorching past my cheek—­like this.”

Mr. Weatherley struck the side of his face sharply with the flat of his hand.

“He had another go at me but it was too late,—­I was there upon him.  He held out his arm but I was too quick.  I didn’t seem to hit very hard the first time but the club was heavy.  His foot slipped on the marble hearthstone and he went.  He fell with a thud.  Have you ever killed a man, Chetwode?”

“Never, sir,” Arnold answered, his voice shaking a little.