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“Will you kindly inform us how it is possible for a player to cheat and not know that he is cheating?”

He bent his eyes on the carpet as if seeking an answer. It was long in coming. “No,” he said at last, in a slow, dragging tone, “I cannot.”

“Then you will at least tell us exactly what Mr. Mackenzie did.”

Again there was a long pause. He looked at me straight, but with hopelessness in his eyes. “I fear you would not believe me. It would not be worth while. If you can grant it, sir, I would ask time to decide.”

“Mr. Urquhart,” said I sternly, “are you aware you have brought against Mr. Mackenzie a charge under which no man of honour can live easily for a moment? You ask me without a word of evidence in substantiation to keep him in torture while I give you time. It is monstrous, and I beg to remind you that, unless your charge is proved, you can–and will–be broken for making it.”

“I know it, sir,” he answered firmly enough; “and because I knew it, I asked–perhaps selfishly–for time. If you refuse, I will at least ask permission to see a priest before telling a story which I can scarcely expect you to believe.” Mr. Urquhart too was a Roman Catholic.

But my temper for the moment was gone. “I see little chance,” said I, “of keeping this scandal secret, and regret it the less if the consequences are to fall on a rash accuser. But just now I will have no meddling priest share the secret. For the present, one word more. Had you heard before this evening of any hints against Mr. Mackenzie’s play?”

He answered reluctantly, “Yes.”

“And you set yourself to lay a trap for him?”

“No, sir; I did not. Unconsciously I may have been set on the watch: no, that is wrong–I did watch. But I swear it was in every hope and expectation of clearing him. He was my friend. Even when I saw, I had at first no intention to expose him until–“

“That is enough, sir,” I broke in, and turned to my brother. “I have no option but to put Mr. Urquhart too under arrest. Kindly convey him back to his room, and send Captain Murray to me. He may leave Mr. Mackenzie in the entresol.”

My brother led Urquhart out, and in a minute Captain Murray tapped at my door. He was an honest Scot, not too sharp-witted, but straight as a die. I am to show him this description, and he will cheerfully agree with it.

“This is a hideous business, Murray,” said I as he entered. “There’s something wrong with Urquhart’s story. Indeed, between ourselves it has the fatal weakness that he won’t tell it.”

Murray took a minute to digest this, then he answered, “I don’t know anything about Urquhart’s story, sir. But there’s something wrong about Urquhart.” Here he hesitated.

“Speak out, man,” said I: “in confidence. That’s understood.”

“Well, sir,” said he, “Urquhart won’t fight.”

“Ah! so that question came up, did it?” I asked, looking at him sharply.

He was not abashed, but answered, with a twinkle in his eye, “I believe, sir, you gave me no orders to stop their talking, and in a case like this–between youngsters–some question of a meeting would naturally come up. You see, I know both the lads. Urquhart I really like; but he didn’t show up well, I must own–to be fair to the other, who is in the worse fix.”

“I am not so sure of that,” I commented; “but go on.”

He seemed surprised. “Indeed, Colonel? Well,” he resumed, “I being the sort of fellow they could talk before, a meeting was discussed. The question was how to arrange it without seconds–that is, without breaking your orders and dragging in outsiders. For Mackenzie wanted blood at once, and for awhile Urquhart seemed just as eager. All of a sudden, when….” here he broke off suddenly, not wishing to commit himself.