"I despise charlatanry as much as the next man. You shall see the steps
by which I judged you. When you entered the room I threw a strong light
upon you. You did not blanch; you immediately walked straight into the
shaft of light although you could not see a foot before you."

"And that proved?"

"A combative instinct, and coolness; not the sort of brute
vindictiveness that fights for a rage, for a cool-minded love of
conflict. Is that clear?"

Donnegan shrugged his shoulders.

"And above all, I need a fighter. Then I watched your eyes and your
hands. The first were direct and yet they were alert. And your hands
were perfectly steady."

"Qualifications for a fighter, eh?"

"Do you wish further proof?"

"Well?"

"What of the fight to the death which you went through this same night?"

Donnegan started. It was a small movement, that flinching, and he
covered it by continuing the upward gesture of his hand to his coat; he
drew out tobacco and cigarette papers and commenced to roll his smoke.
Looking up, he saw that the eyes of Colonel Macon were smiling, although