“You know best. Maybe you have taken me for one of your pugmill squireens with blinkers to his head. You’d better cleanse your brain on that point. I see and I hear, Mr. Breeds, and I’m dangerous to meddle with. You understand me—yes, you do.”
“So help me God, sir, I know nought of any attempt on your house!”
“You see? Did I say there had been one? You rogue! I’ve a mind to put a bullet in you now.”
The landlord dropped his pipe on the floor, and cried abjectly—
“Sir—Mr. Tuke! In the Lord’s name, what d’ye accuse me of?”
“Of nothing, of course. I warn you—that’s enough.”
“But, sir——”
“Mr. Breeds, Mr. Breeds!”—he shook a threatening finger at him—“let me advise you to take a fair hint and meditate on it. You consort with blackguards, sir; you harbour ruffians. Shall I connect this or not with signs and sounds and visits that have disturbed me of late?”
“I am an innkeeper, sir,” said the other sullenly. “I’m not to pick or choose where custom offers. Let the law look after its own. I stand upon my rights.”
“Aye, aye; that’s boor’s English for treading on other people’s corns.”