Jessie clung to her father, begging him in tears not to hurt the poor man. Braunt shook her off, but not unkindly. “Sit thee down, Jessie, lass, and don’t worrit me. I’ll but drop the bag o’ bones on the stairs, and serve him right for a sneak.” Langly, encouraged by his antagonist’s change of tone in speaking to the girl, ventured to falter forth: “I assure you, sir----” “Don’t ‘sir’ me, you hound,” cried Braunt, turning fiercely upon him, “and don’t dare to deny you are one of Gibbons’s spies. I caught you at it, remember.” “I’ll deny nothing, if it displeases you; but I never heard of Gibbons in my life, and I’m only a poor organist. I stopped at the door on hearing the harmonium. For no other reason, I assure you. I know I oughtn’t to have done it, and I suppose I am a sneak. I’ll never do it again, never, if you will excuse me this time.” There was something so abject in the musician’s manner that Braunt’s resentment was increased rather than diminished by the appeal. He had a big man’s contempt for anything small and cringing. “Oh, you’re an organist, are you? Likely story! Organists don’t live in Garden Court. But we’ll see, we’ll see. Get up.” Langly gathered himself together, and rose unsteadily to his feet. Every movement he made augmented the other’s suspicion. “Now,” said Braunt, with the definite air of a man who has his opponent in a corner, “sit down at the harmonium and play. You’re an organist, remember.” “Yes,” protested Langly, “but I don’t know that I can play on that instrument at all. I play a church organ.” “An organ’s an organ, whether it is in church or out. If you can play the one, you can play the other.” The young man hesitated, and was nearly lost. Braunt’s fingers itched to get at him, and probably only the presence of the girl restrained him so far. “Have you any music?” asked Langly. “No, we haven’t. She plays by ear.” “Will you allow me to go up-stairs and bring some sheet music?” This was a little too transparent. “Now, by God!” cried Braunt, bringing his fist down on the table. “Stand there chattering another minute, and I’ll break thy neck down the stair. Sit thee down, Jessie, an’ don’t interfere. The man plays or he doesn’t. I knew he was a liar, an’ he quakes there because it’s to be proven. Now, coward, the organ or the stairs--make thy choice quickly.”