This was bad enough; but when he
opened them again, it was almost a worse trial for Schomberg's nerves.
The spectral intensity of that glance, fixed on the hotel-keeper (and
this was most frightful) without any definite expression, seemed to
dissolve the last grain of resolution in his character.
"You don't think, by any chance, that you have to do with ordinary
people, do you?" inquired Mr. Jones, in his lifeless manner, which
seemed to imply some sort of menace from beyond the grave.
"He's a gentleman," testified Martin Ricardo with a sudden snap of the
lips, after which his moustaches stirred by themselves in an odd, feline
manner.
"Oh, I wasn't thinking of that," said plain Mr. Jones, while Schomberg,
dumb and planted heavily in his chair looked from one to the other,
leaning forward a little. "Of course I am that; but Ricardo attaches
too much importance to a social advantage. What I mean, for instance, is
that he, quiet and inoffensive as you see him sitting here, would think
nothing of setting fire to this house of entertainment of yours. It
would blaze like a box of matches. Think of that! It wouldn't advance
your affairs much, would it?--whatever happened to us."
"Come, come gentlemen," remonstrated Schomberg, in a murmur. "This is
very wild talk!"
"And you have been used to deal with tame people, haven't you? But we
aren't tame.
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