"
"What the hell does he mean?" he asked, appealing to the company.
"Damn my bones if I know," answered the host. "I've 'eerd parson say
sommat like it in church a Sundays. He's one of these 'ere silly
scholards."
"They do say as how Swift Nicks is a scholard," put in the ostler wisely.
"There's no time for chattering," said I. "Take me at once before a
justice. That's the law, and you know it. I warn you that any delay will
be dangerous. My cocksure friend here is already in for actions for
assault, battery, slander, false imprisonment, and the Lord knows what. My
gad, sir, I'll give you a roasting at the assizes. Take me off at once to
the nearest magistrate. I'll have the law on you before another hour's
out."
My energy flustered the Londoner, who had sense enough to know the peril
of his being wrong, but the fat man, dull as an ox, cheered him on.
"He's Swift Nicks right enough, Master Wicks," he said. "Pocket full of
pistols, four on 'em; a chap of the right size, a matter of six feet odd;
hereabouts, where he is known to be; speaks like a gentleman; and, damme,
I saw Swift Nicks myself with my own eyes not two yards off, and that's
Swift Nicks' hat or I'm a Dutchman; I know'd it again the minute he walked
into the room.
Pages:
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392