“Villainous!” Richard protested. “I'll sli' throat of any man 't says so.” And draining the pewter at his elbow, he smashed it down on the table to emphasize his seriousness.
Trenchard replenished it with the utmost promptness, then sat back in his tall chair and pulled a moment at the fresh pipe with which he had equipped himself.
“I think I espy,”' he quoted presently, “'virtue and valour crouched in thine eye.' And yet... and yet... if I had cause to think it true, I'd... I'd run you through the vitals—jus' so,” and he prodded Richard's waistcoat with the point of his pipe-stem. His swarthy face darkened, his eyes glittered fiercely. “Are ye sure ye're norrer foul traitor?” he demanded suddenly. “Are y' sure, for if ye're not...”
He left the terrible menace unuttered, but it was none the less understood. It penetrated the vinous fog that beset the brain of Richard, and startled him.
“'Swear I'm not!” he cried. “'Swear mos' solemnly I'm not.”
“Swear?” echoed Trenchard, and his scowl grew darker still. “Swear? A man may swear and yet lie—'a man may smile and smile and be a villain.' I'll have proof of your loyalty to us. I'll have proof, or as there's a heaven above and a hell below, I'll rip you up.”
His mien was terrific, and his voice the more threatening in that it was not raised above a whisper.
Richard sat back appalled, afraid.
“Wha'... what proof'll satisfy you?” he asked.
Trenchard considered it, pulling at his pipe again. “Pledge me the Duke,” said he at length. “Ther's truth 'n wine. Pledge me the Duke and confusion to His Majesty the goldfinch.” Richard reached for his pewter, glad that the test was to be so light. “Up on your feet, man,” grumbled Trenchard. “On your feet, and see that your words have a ring of truth in them.”