Part 13 (1/2)

With that he snorted his angry way into the kitchen, leaving his young guest with a quiet smile upon his face.

”It is very evident,” mused Ezra, ”that the spies of General Ward have been here before me.” His eyes went to Scarlett's companion, and his thoughts continued. ”That being the case, Master Pennington is a man of some courage to risk showing himself, I should think.”

The conversation between the two was really a monologue. Scarlett talked in a resonant voice, twirled his moustache and gestured elaborately. The other listened, shrugged at times, at others smiled, at others again uttered the high-pitched, disagreeable laugh. Ezra leaned back and clasped a knee with his hands and listened with interest.

”The man was an uncommon sort of man,” said Scarlett, ”small, backward in his manner and very low spoken. When he offered me the work to do I felt sure that it was some plagued commercial matter that a man of my quality should have nothing to do with. But I needed money and he had it to pay. So I undertook to carry his papers without more ado.”

”And you found the matter of more interest than you'd have supposed?”

questioned the other.

”Decidedly,” answered Scarlett. He pulled up his boot-top and stroked his chin. ”First I lost my way; then I lost my horse. And afterward, as though these were not enough, I all but lost my life by means of a young blade pistoling me upon the road; him I sent on with the message.

Afterward I met with some riders and a wagon heavily laden. Among the riders was the man Abdallah whom I had been sent to see. I knew him at once, for no other man in this region could have such an appearance.”

A look of interest came into the other's face.

”And he directed you here?”

”He said that I might by chance come upon some further employment,”

answered Scarlett, ”if I frequented this place. He was not pleased with the way I had performed my first office; but, doubtless, he's a person of some perception and knows a man of mettle when he sees one.”

”No doubt,” said Pennington, dryly.

He regarded the adventurer with attention and seemed endeavoring to properly weigh him. There was a bold, free air about Gilbert Scarlett that took the eye at once; but that he was wondrously boastful was evident, and boastful strangers are ever looked upon with distrust.

”A man,” declaimed Scarlett, twirling at his moustache, ”cannot go through seven campaigns and not bear some stamp of his service. When I first offered my sword to the Elector of Hanover, he told me in his rough German way that I was but a boy. But later I proved to him that I could do the work of my elders, even then.”

”Abdallah said nothing specific, I suppose?” inquired Pennington.

”How specific?”

”He gave you no token to present to any one by name?”

”None.”

”And he did not say that he would employ you?”

”Not in so many words.”

Pennington shook his head.

”I do not know the man,” said he. ”But from what you have told me, it would seem that he has been making game of you.”

The head of Scarlett went up, and his hand sought the heavy hilt of his sword.

”There have been one or two, at odd times, who have sought to do that,”

spoke he, and there was a ring in his voice that boded no good to any such. ”And I'll warrant you that they never attempted it again.”

”Have you inquired of the landlord as to these persons whom you seek?”

asked Pennington.