"
"Damn your greedy eyes!" came back in a growl. Then all was still,
fearfully still, both in the atmosphere outside and in that
within, during which I caught sight of the stranger's hand moving
slowly around to his back and returning as slowly forward, all
under cover of the table-top and a stack of half-empty bottles.
I was inexperienced. I knew nothing of the habits or the ways of
such men as these, but the alarm of innocence in the face of
untold, unsuspected but intuitively felt evil, seized me at this
stealthy movement, and I tried to rise,--tried to shriek,--but
could not; for events rushed upon us quicker than I could speak or
move.
"I can buy the Claymore Tavern, can I? Well, I'm going to," rang
out into the air as the speaker leaped to his feet. "Take that,
you cheat! And that! And that!" And the shots rang out--one, two,
three!
Spencer was dead in his Folly. I had seen him rise, throw up his
hands and then fall in a heap among the cards and glasses.
Silence! Not even Heaven spoke.
Then the man who stood there alone turned slightly and I saw his
face. I have seen it many times since; I have seen it at Claymore
Tavern. Distorted up to this moment by a thousand emotions,--all
evil ones,--it was calm now with the realisation of his act, and I
could make no mistake as to his identity. Later I will mention his
name.
Glancing first at his victim, then at the pistol still smoking in
his hand, he put the weapon back in his pocket, and began
gathering up the money for which he had just damned his soul.
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