“There's but one gentleman here at present, sir. I've known him these twenty years, and I 'll vouch for it he's neither a Government spy nor an informer.”
“And who will be satisfied with your guarantee, sir?” cried Curtis, insolently. “It's not a fellow in your position that can assure the scruples of a man in mine. Who is he? What's his name?”
“He's a respectable man, sir, well known in Dublin, and the son of one that held a good position once.”
“His name,—his name!” cried Curtis, imperiously.
“It's no matter about his name!” replied the host, sulkily. “He has come to eat his breakfast here, as he does once or twice a week, and that's all that I have to say to him.”
“But I 'll have his name,—I 'll insist upon it,” shouted out Curtis, in a voice of high excitement; “persecuted and hunted down as I am, I'll defend myself. Your Castle bloodhounds shall see that Joe Curtis will not run from them. This gentleman here is the son of MacNaghten of Greenan. What signifies it to you if he be ruined! What affair is it of yours, I ask, if he has n't a sixpence in the world?—I'll pay for what he takes here. I'm responsible for everything. I have two thousand a year secured on my life,”—he stopped, and seemed to reflect for a moment, then added,—“that is, I may have it if I please.”
MacNaghten made a signal for the innkeeper to serve the breakfast, and not notice any of the extravagances of his strange companion. Mathews was about to obey, when Curtis, recurring to his former thought, cried out,—
“Well, sir, this fellow's name?”
“Tell him who it is,” whispered Dan, secretly; and the host said,—
“The gentleman is one Mr. Raper, sir, head clerk to Mr. Fagan, of Mary's Abbey.”