"More work, more pay," said I, when he had finished. "Here is another shilling. And, look you, if you care to call at our house, The Havering--’tis a lonesome place a mile or so from Lyme, and well-beknown to all--if you choose to call, I say, you may be certain of a welcome. My father, I’ll wager, would rejoice to see those tricks of yours. And that reminds me; you have my name, friend--prithee, what is yours?"
"Well, ’tis a passing curious one," he answered, grinning like a skull. "Nay, worse than that, ’tis downright heathenish and wicked--Tubal Ammon--as black a name, I trow, as ever was."
"Well, well," said I, consolingly, "you did not name yourself; and ’tis at least one easily remembered. So now, friend Ammon, here is a right good evening to you; and, as I said before, if you choose to call upon us at The Havering you may be certain of a right hearty welcome."
With that I would have ridden off, but he touched my arm and said:
"Stay! I would fain return such kindness by showing thee some very curious things. See," he added, bringing forth a little carven case, "here is a tiny bow and arrows. Toys, say you? and yet the veriest scratch from one of these fine points means death; for they are poisoned. Again, this amulet, the which I keep so thickly wrapped in cloth: behold how richly it is carved, how beautiful and innocent it looks; but wear it for an hour and you are dead, for, likewise, it is poisoned. And, yet again, this tiny wooden dart, scarce bigger than a tailor’s needle; one prick from it means death--poisoned also. The wretches that I lived with use these things, and many more besides, for secret killing. Take them in your hands, good sir, I pray you. Your gloves will save all harm. Examine them and see how finely they are wrought."
I did so; and was bending over them in gloating fashion when a gentle click aroused me, and, turning suddenly, I found the muzzle of a pistol close beside my head, with an evil, grinning face beyond it.
"Good friend," said Tubal Ammon, "thou art rich and I am very needy. Give me all thou hast, and give it quickly."
This was an ugly business, sure enough. I was unarmed, while a bullet with scarce a foot to travel could not fail to hit the mark. Yes; the pressure of a finger meant sure death, nor did I doubt the rascal’s villainous intention, even if I gave him what he asked; for either he would shoot me as I got the money out or as I turned to ride away. My horse was just the very thing he wanted. Thus I argued swiftly with myself, and saw that to dissemble was my only hope.