“I never said it weren’t,” said the mariner. “But have you had any comp’ny, mate, these three days?”
“None to speak of,” said the landlord.
“Have you got any now?” asked the mariner.
“I have not,” said the landlord.
“Then, mate,” said the mariner, spitting freely amongst the logs on the hearth, “you’re a liar.”
That was so trite a fact to Gamaliel, that he did not attempt to contradict it. He was not a little disconcerted by it, however.
“Now I’ll tell ye, mate, how I know ye’re a liar,” said the sailor, with a slow anger that made him far more formidable than an outburst would have done. “The candles are comin’ through the chinks in the shutters of that front chamber over the sign. Perhaps ye’ll tell me that that don’t mean comp’ny; but in any case Diggory Fargus is a-going up to look with his own blessed deadlight, and ye can lay to that, mate.”
Without condescending to parley further with the landlord, who had plainly none of his confidence, Diggory Fargus got up from the fire and lurched to the stairs.
“What are you about, man?” said the landlord excitedly. “It is no place for you, up there! There are lords and ladies up there.”
“I knew you were a liar,” said the grimly satisfied mariner. “Lords and ladies, is they? Well, like as not, that’s just who I’ve come to see. What moight be their names, mate?”