Pennington arose and was about to remonstrate with the young soldier; but the latter stopped before he had well begun.
“Have the goodness to keep your place,” requested Scarlett, with a quick, fierce, unmistakable look. “There are some things, perhaps, that I can be crossed in,” here the look grew significant, “and made to appear cheap. But be assured, sir, that this is not one of them.”
At once Pennington sank back upon the settle and again the landlord resumed his capering before the swift-moving sword point.
“Now, rascal,” cried Scarlett, harshly, “will you do as I ask? Faith, I’m playing you easily enough; in Muscovy they’d have had your life for half this show of stubbornness.”
“I tell you I know no such gentleman,” cried the landlord. “How can I tell that which I know not?”
He whirled away before the brisk flash of the blade; and at the same time he continued, addressing Pennington, meaningly:
“I beg of you, sir, for the last time, to persuade this man to let be. I am but flesh and blood. I cannot withstand everything.”
Again Pennington seemed about to interfere; but once more the fierce glance of Scarlett awed him. Then the latter shortened his weapon and glowered at the innkeeper.
“And I call upon you for the last time to tell me who this man Pennington is!” he grated. “Quick now!”
The landlord’s eyes sought for a means of escape; but he was hard pressed to make use of any that presented themselves.