The landlord stared; the barmaid stared; even the head-waiter, a very stately person, stared too.
"Hark ye," said the little man, sipping his brandy and water, "I am a deuced good-natured fellow, so I'll make you a great man to-night; for nothing makes a man so great as being let into a great secret. Did you ever hear of the rich Mr. Crauford?"
"Certainly: who has not?"
"Did you ever see him?"
"No! I can't say I ever did."
"You lie, landlord: you saw him to-night."
"Sir!" cried the landlord, bristling up.
The little man pulled out a brace of pistols, and very quietly began priming them out of a small powder-flask.
The landlord started back; the head-waiter cried "Rape!" and the barmaid "Murder!"
"Who the devil are you, sir?" cried the landlord.