Then he turned to Mr. Sabin.
"You said nothing about those letters you had had when you came
to see me this morning!"
"It was you yourself," Mr. Sabin reminded him, "who begged me not
to enter into particulars. You sent me on to Mr. Skinner. I told
him everything."
Mr. Horser leaned over the table. His eyes were bloodshot, his
tone was fierce and threatening. Mr. Sabin was coldly courteous.
The difference between the demeanour of the two men was remarkable.
"You knew what those letters meant! This is a plot! Where is
Skinner's report?"
Mr. Sabin raised his eyebrows. He signaled to the head-waiter.
"Be so good as to continue the service of my dinner," he ordered.
"The champagne is a trifle too chilled. You can take it out of
the cooler."
The man bowed, with a curious side glance at Horser.
"Certainly, your Grace!"
Horser was almost speechless with anger.
"Are you going to answer my questions?" he demanded thickly.
"I have no particular objection to doing so," Mr. Sabin answered,
"but until you can sit up and compose yourself like an ordinary
individual, I decline to enter into any conversation with you at
all."
Again Mr. Horser raised his voice, and the glare in his eyes was
like the glare of a wild beast.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked. "Do you know who you're talking
to?"
Mr.
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