finger.

I could hardly believe my eyes, or my ears either when he roundly
defended his conduct. I need not go into his defence; it was the only
one it could have been; but Uvo Delavoye was the only man in England who
could and would have made it with a serious face. It was no mere trinket
that he had "lifted," but a curse from two innocent heads. That end
justified any means, to his wild thinking. But, over and above the
ethical question, he had an inherited responsibility in the matter, and
had only performed a duty which had been thrust upon him.

"Nor shall they be a bit the worse off," said Uvo warmly. "I still mean
to have that duplicate made, off my own bat, and when I foist it on our
friends I shall simply say it turned up in the lining of my overcoat."

"Man Uvo," said I, "there are two professions waiting for you; but it
would take a judge of both to choose between your fiction and your
acting."

"Acting!" he cried. "Why, a blog like Guy Berridge can act when he's put
to it; he did just now, and took you in, evidently! It never struck you,
I suppose, that he'd wired to me this morning to say nothing to the
girl, probably at the same time that he wired to her to meet him? He
carried it all off like a born actor just now, and yet you curse me for
going and doing likewise to save the pair of them!"

It is always futile to try to slay the bee in another's bonnet; but for
once I broke my rule of never arguing with Uvo Delavoye, if I could help
it, on the particular point involved. I simply could not help it, on
this occasion; and when Uvo lost his temper, and said a great deal more
than I would have taken from anybody else, I would not have helped it if
I could. So hot had been our interchange that it was at its height when
we debouched from St. Stephen's Passage into the open cross-roads
beyond.

At that unlucky moment, one small suburban Arab, in full flight from
another, dashed round the corner and butted into that part of Delavoye
which the Egyptian climate had specially demoralised. I saw his dark
face writhe with pain and fury. With one hand he caught the offending
urchin, and in the other I was horrified to see his stick, a heavy
blackthorn, held in murderous poise against the leaden sky, while the
child was thrust out at arm's length to receive the blow. I hurled
myself between them, and had such difficulty in wresting the blackthorn
from the madman's grasp that his hand was bleeding, and something