I swallowed hard and observed as my champion stood, his arms folded in an impatient stance at the centre of the yard. Above him I noted a light in one window of the apartments I understood to belong to Mr Savill. Now the urgency of our visit became apparent to me; Mr Drummond had taken pains to learn that the offender was at home.

A moment or so passed. Then the light that had glowed in Savill’s window was suddenly extinguished. That act of cowardice prompted my champion to look across his shoulder and exchange a knowing glance with me.

A further handful of minutes elapsed. Drummond removed his watch from his waistcoat, held it to the light, clapped the case shut and returned to the coach.

‘Your whip, Dupont,’ said he to his coachman. His servant handed over the instrument and the young man strode back to the centre of the courtyard.

‘Andrew Savill, you niggardly dog!’ he thundered. ‘I have seen the light in your window, sir, and know that you cower from me.’

Drummond then paused for a moment and paced the coach yard, awaiting a response. There came none.

‘For the gross offence you have paid me, for the dishonour you have done to my wife and for the theft of her property, I demand that you attend me here, this instant, to receive the punishment you have merited.’ With that, the young man cracked his horsewhip with vigour. An electrifying snap reverberated through the enclosed space.

‘A barbarian who sees fit to raise his hand to a lady should be prepared to pay in kind for his crimes. I propose to thrash you within an inch of your life, sir, to flay you for the beast you are!’ He snapped his whip once more.

One by one, the shutters of Madame Bonet’s establishment began to move. The faint glow of candles and curious faces appeared at the surrounding windows. Amongst them, I spied the proprietress herself, partially disguised behind the drapery and wearing a disquieted expression.

Seeing that his proposition met with silence, Drummond howled once more. ‘Mr Savill, you damnable scoundrel! Villain! Coward! Come receive your dues! I shall not depart without some promise of satisfaction!’

This charade continued for the better part of a half-hour before the doors of the Hôtel l’Impératrice flew wide and out came a waiter bearing a note. The frightened lackey handed it to Mr Drummond, who tore it open, read it and threw it upon the ground.

‘Very well then, sir!’ the young man called out, pointing his whip at Savill’s window. ‘Prepare your second for two days hence and I shall meet you in the Bois de Boulogne at a time agreeable, whereupon your blood shall be let. And do not mistake me, sir, I am an excellent shot.’