"How?"
"I—I'll k-kill you!"
"Murder me?"
"It's no m-murder to kill your sort!"
"Then it is a pistol you have in your pocket, there?"
"Yes—l-look at it!" And, speaking, Barrymaine drew and levelled the weapon with practised hand. "Now listen!" said he. "You will s-sit down at that table there, and write Gaunt to g-give me all the time I need for your c-cursed interest—"
"But I tell you—"
"Liar!" cried Barrymaine, advancing a threatening step. "Liar,—I know! Then, after you've done that,—you will swear never to see or c-communicate with my sister again, or I'll shoot you dead where you stand,—s-so help me God!"
"You are mad," said Barnabas, "I am not your creditor, and—"
"Liar! I know!" repeated Barrymaine.