Duane paid him no further attention; Grandcourt asked him very civilly if he could do anything for him.
"Sure," sneered Quest.

"You can tell Dysart that if I ever come across him I'll shoot him on sight! Tell him that and be damned!" "I've already told him that," said Grandcourt with a shrug of contempt.
The weak, vicious face of the other reddened: "What do you mean by taking that tone with me ?" he demanded loudly.

"Do you think I won't make good ?" He fumbled around in his clothing for a moment and presently jerked a pistol free--one of the automatic kind with rubber butt and blued barrel.
"Unless you are drunker than I've ever seen you," said Grandcourt, "you'll put up that pistol before I do." Quest cursed him steadily for a minute: "Do you think I haven't got the nerve to use it when m' honour's 'volved?
I tell you," he said thickly, "when m' honour's 'volved----" "You get drunk, don't you ?" observed Duane.

"What a pitiful pup you are, anyway.

Go to bed." Quest stood swaying slightly on his heels and considering Duane with the inquiring solemnity of one who is in process of grasping and digesting an abstruse proposition.
"B-bed ?" he repeated; "me ?" "Certainly.