“Go about your business, and let me pass.”
“Take that for your civility!” and, with a severe blow with his stick, he laid me prostrate. I was not stunned, but I felt very sick, and altogether incapable of rising. In this state I determined to feign stupefaction, so I nearly closed my eyes, and lay perfectly still. The huge vagabond then placed his knee upon my chest, and called out to his companion:
“I say, Mister, come and see if this here chap’s the right un.”
The person called to, came up; and, immediately after, through my eyelashes, I beheld the diabolical white face of Daunton. It was so dark, that, to recognise me, he was obliged to place his countenance so close to mine that his hot breath burned against my cheek. He was in a passion of terror, and trembled as if in an access of ague.
“It is,” said he, whilst his teeth chattered. “Is he stunned?”
“Mister, now I take that as an insult. D’ye think that John Gowles need strike such a strip of a thing as that ere twice?”
“Hush!—How very, very cold it is! Where is your knife? Will you do it?”
“Most sartainly not. There—he’s at your mercy—I never committed murder yet—no, no, must think of my precious soul. A bargain’s a bargain—my part on’t is done.”
“Gowles, don’t talk so loud. I can’t bear the sight of blood—and, oh God!—of this blood—it would spurt upon my hand. Strike him again over the head—he breathes heavily—strike him!”
“No,” said the confederate, sullenly. “Tell ye—u’ll have neither ’art nor part in this ’ere murder.”