He bent forward, took the outstretched open case into his own hands,
removed a cigarette, snapped the case shut and thrust it into his
trousers pocket,--all, as it seemed, at a single stroke.

"My dear sir," began Chauvenet, white with rage.

"My dear Monsieur Chauvenet," said Armitage, striking a match, "I am
indebted to you for returning a trinket that I value highly."

The flame crept half the length of the stick while they regarded each
other; then Armitage raised it to the tip of his cigarette, lifted his
head and blew a cloud of smoke.

"Are you able to prove your property, Mr. Armitage?" demanded Chauvenet
furiously.

"My dear sir, they have a saying in this country that possession is nine
points of the law. You had it--now I have it--wherefore it must be mine!"

Chauvenet's rigid figure suddenly relaxed; he leaned against a chair with
a return of his habitual nonchalant air, and waved his hand carelessly.

"Between gentlemen--so small a matter!"

"To be sure--the merest trifle," laughed Armitage with entire good humor.

"And where a gentleman has the predatory habits of a burglar and
housebreaker--"

"Then lesser affairs, such as picking up trinkets--"