The stranger took from his pocket, as he spoke, a small bright silver staff.
“W—w—what! Who—who are you?” stammered the landlord.
“It matters not just now who I am,” said the stranger, “but look to your house, sir—it has grown disorderly of late.”
With a slow step the stranger then left the room, amid an universal stare of astonishment from the company.
“Well, I never—” cried the landlord, “a silver staff! He belongs to the office of the High Bailiff of Westminster, as I’m a sinner.”
“And yet you wanted to turn him out,” said the cordwainer.
“Landlord, you are an intemperate man,” said another.
“The landlord’s a fool,” cried a third.
“Not to know an officer!” cried a fourth.
“Ah—ah!” chimed in three or four more.