"I know," he answered quietly. "The noise fetched you in upon us on
the instant, and the mischief was done."

"Indeed, sir," I could not avoid sneering, "to most of us it would
seem that the mischief was done when you accused a brother-officer of
fraud to his face."

He seemed to reflect. "Yes, sir," he assented slowly; "it is done. I
saw him cheat: that I must persist in; but I cannot say how far he was
conscious of it. And since I cannot, I must take the consequences."

"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."