"I don't know what you're talking about," said Dombrain, doggedly, resuming his seat. "I never saw you before, and I'm a stranger to you."
"Dombrain is a stranger, I confess," said Silas, fixing his clear eyes on the sullen face of the man before him, "but I can size up the party called Damberton without much trouble. I reckon I can tell you a story about him, Mr. Dombrain, if you want particulars."
"No, no!" said Dombrain hoarsely, wiping his forehead; "it's no use beating about the bush. I am Damberton, but now I'm quite respectable. You surely are not going to----"
"I'm goin' to do nothin', sir. You ain't upsettin' my apple-cart. No, sir. That's a fact, anyhow."
"Then what do you want me to do for you?" asked Dombrain, with a sigh of relief.
"Well, now," replied Silas, thoughtfully, "that's just what I've got to find out. Mrs. Belswin--hey! Do you know who Mrs. Belswin is?"
"Yes, the she-devil! Pethram's wife. She was here half an hour ago."
"Is that so? I say, you ain't playin' in the same yard, I guess. Not much, when you call her names."
"I hate her!" said Dombrain, fiercely; "she is the curse of my life."
"I reckon she's been raisin' Cain here," observed Silas, shrewdly. "Well, that ain't any of my business, but she's been tryin' the same game on with me. Now I'm a quiet man, sir, and I don't want no catamount spittin' round my front door, so I want you to put the set on that lady."