"You cannot lock him in here," said the stranger, looking round him.
The showman grunted. "Cannot I?" he said. "There are tricks in all trades, master. I reckon I can--with this!" And producing from somewhere about him a thin steel chain, he held it before the other's face. "That is my lock and door," he said triumphantly.
"It won't hold him long," the other answered impassively. "The fifth link from the end is worn through now."
"You have sharp eyes!" the showman exclaimed, with reluctant admiration. "But it will hold a bit yet. I fasten him in yonder corner. Do you wait here, and I will come back to you."
He was not long about it. When he returned he led the stranger into the farthest of the stalls, which, as well as that next to it, was empty. "We can talk here," he said bluntly. "At any rate, I have no better place. The house is full. Now, what is it?"
"I want that boy," the tall man answered. The showman laughed--stopped laughing--laughed again. "I dare say you do," he said derisively. "There is not a better or a pluckier boy on the rope out of Paris. And for patter? There is nothing on the road like the bit he did this afternoon, nor a bit that pays as well."
"Who taught it him?" the stranger asked.
"I did."
"That is a lie," the other answered in a perfectly unmoved tone. "If you like I will tell you what you did. You taught him the latter half of the story. The other he knew before: down to the word 'province.'"
The showman gasped. "Diable!" he muttered. "Who told you?"