"I 've heard him say so, many is the day, sir," I answered.
"Aye, a rare dog!" chuckled the old man. "I have in my memory some brisk pictures of your father with his ready tongue, his what-the-devil-does-it-matter-sir, and that extraordinary swordsmanship which you seem to have inherited."
"My father told me you were great friends in France," I answered civilly, "but from some words you let drop in Bristol I judged that he was mistaken."
"Tut," said the Earl. "You are not out of temper with me, are you, O'Ruddy?"
"With me happily in possession of the papers," I rejoined, "I am in good temper with everybody. 'T is not for me to lose my good nature when I hold all the cards."
The Earl's mouth quickly dropped to a sour expression, but almost as quickly he put on a pleasant smile. "Aye," he said, nodding his sick head. "Always jovial, always jovial. Precisely like his father. In fact it brings back an old affection."
"If the old affection had been brought back a little earlier, sir," said I, "we all would have had less bother. 'T was you who in the beginning drew a long face and set a square chin over the business. I am now in the mood to be rather airy."
Our glances blazed across each other.
"But," said the Earl in the gentlest of voices, "you have my papers, O'Ruddy, papers entrusted to you by your dying father to give into the hands of his old comrade. Would you betray such a sacred trust? Could you wanton yourself to the base practices of mere thievery?"
