“But we’ll see a nobler conjury,” pursued Marlowe, upon whose hot blood the insolent bearing of Frazer was having its effect. “The artist’s brush shall paint the juggler’s tongue a deeper red—the—” The poet’s threat, however, uttered while he rose and drew his sword, was interrupted by Simon Groat, the host, who came forward with hands uplifted in expostulation. “Gogsnouns!” he exclaimed. “Not so, my worshipful guests. Take ye the ‘Tabard’ for a tilt-yard? Nay, nay—I pray you—here, tapster, a quietus for all—open the ale-tap wide. Free flagons, gentles, an it please you to wait and drain them. You’ll find more space without—down by the bridge-house there is room for—” And now Sir Walter St. Magil, the apparent adviser of young Frazer, lent his aid to Simon Groat in calming the turbulent disputants. “Ay, Master Frazer,” said he, “respect thine host—the quarrel’s idle, gentlemen, if you’ll permit me.” “But the swords,” declared Marlowe, “shall not be.” “Nay,” cried Frazer, in whose veins the Canary wine ran riotous. “Your artist’s brush would fain paint—” “Fool!” roared Rouse, “you’ll pay high for the picture,” and so saying the big fellow pushed aside tables and chairs, while Marlowe stood on guard with rapier drawn. But at this instant, in a window behind Frazer, yet plainly visible to Rouse and Marlowe, the face of a man appeared. “Fools all!” he said, in a voice that clipped words and shot them from him like bullets. “Sots! Ye’re the bears! Why this babble of plays, when you only enact a bear-baiting yourselves, and that poorly? ’Twere nobler to be a bear or bull-dog than an ass.” Whereat, as suddenly as it had come, the face of the speaker disappeared from the tap-room window. Marlowe and Rouse turned one to another in the silence of astonishment. And the name on the lips of both men, although they gave it not even a whispered utterance, was “Vytal.” CHAPTER II “Our swords shall play the orator for us.” —MARLOWE, in _Tamburlaine_. It would be difficult adequately to describe the expressions of amazement, in face and gesture, of those who had had this fearless effrontery thrown at them. Its effect on Marlowe and Rouse was instantaneous. Both went back immediately to the table they had quitted, refraining from any further show of fight. The youth called Frazer was the first to speak. “Who’s the insolent fellow?” “If I should fetch him,” observed St. Magil, as no answer was forthcoming, “you would see a most extraordinary man.” He went to the window. “Nay, he’s gone. ’Tis always thus—up and down from hell’s mouth like the devil in the play. But I can describe that face as though even now it was here before me, and, mark you, I saw it not when its mouth defied us at the window. He is well called the Wolf.” “Nay,” interposed the poet, “save because many fear him. I drink to the man!” and Marlowe turned to Rouse.