The mere mention of that name drove the remaining fumes of drink from the gypsy's head, and he cast a sharp glance at his visitor. Mr. Cass sustained this scrutiny with the greatest calmness, and, finding the smell of the petroleum quite unbearable, threw open the window and placed his chair close beside it so that he could breathe freely. Then he turned round and looked again at the man. Job, open-mouthed at these liberties taken with his domestic arrangements, stared insolently at Mr. Cass; but at length he found his tongue. "You'll give me my death," he grumbled. "I want that window shut." "You shall not have it shut, then," said Mr. Cass, coolly. "The air here is horrible with the smell of that petroleum, whatever you are doing with it. Sit down over there, and you will be out of the draught. I have something serious to say to you." "So you said before," growled Job, surrendering the point of the window and pitching himself on to a broken-backed chair. "What's she up to now?" "If you are speaking of Mrs. Marshall, be more respectful," Mr. Cass said, angrily. "However you may have intimidated her, you ruffian, you cannot deal with me in the same way. I'll make an example of you!" "Ha! ha! You touch me at your peril!" retorted Job, who was getting exasperated. "At your peril, you mean! Now, then, my man, no equivocation, but a plain confession. Out with it!" "Confession? What have I to confess, my Gentile cove?" "Be respectful, I tell you, or I'll lay my whip across your shoulders! 'What have you to confess about,' you ask? If the walls of this shambles could speak they might tell you, not but what you know well enough what I mean." "Ah!" cried the man, his eyes glittering. "She's blown the gaff." "Precisely. And it should have been blown long ago. You blackmailing beast! Now, then, I'm here to learn the truth." "Oh, she's not told it to you, then?" "Yes, she has. But I want it confirmed by you." "What am I to confirm?" asked the gypsy, with a savage oath. "The story of how you murdered Jenner in this room!" He started from his seat with a howl, and flung himself towards Mr. Cass. But the merchant was ready for this, and pushing back his chair sprang to his feet. Job found himself recoiling before the barrel of a revolver. "You get back to your seat, or I'll blow your brains out!" said Mr. Cass, and said it with such ferocity that the ruffian crawled back like a whipped dog. But, then, Mr. Cass had the blood of many a slave-owning Spaniard in his veins, and was much more savage than an ordinary Anglo-Saxon. "Do you think I would trust myself here without protection, you wretch?" he asked, resuming his seat. "No; you move, and I shoot. I am less English than Spanish, let me tell you; and perhaps I do not consider my actions so carefully as the people of this country."