his left hand the hunchback slipped the booklet
into the breast of his doublet, with his right hand he dealt Pinto such a
buffet on the side of his head as sent him reeling across the floor, to
bring up with a dull thud at the table against the backs of his nearest
companions.

Instantly all was tumult. Pinto, black with anger, screamed Biscayan
maledictions and struggled to get at his sword where it hung against the
wall, while his comrades, clinging to him and impeding him, were trying
in every variety of bad French to dissuade him from a purpose which they
were well enough aware must needs end disastrously for him. For they all
knew, what the raw Biscayan did not know, how strong was the arm and how
terrible the sword of the hunchback whose studies Pinto had so rudely and
so foolishly interrupted. As for the hunchback himself, he stood quietly
by his chair, with his hands resting on the pommel of his rapier, and a
disagreeable smile twisting new hints of malignity into features that
were malign enough in repose. Now it may be that the sight of that
frightful smile had its effect in cooling the hot blood of the Biscayan,
for, indeed, the hunchback, as he stood there, so quietly alert, so
demoniacally watchful, seemed the most terrible antagonist he had ever
challenged. At least, in a little while the Biscayan, drinking in swiftly
the warnings of his companions, consented to be pacified, consented even
to be apologetic on a whispered hint, that was also a whispered threat,
from his leader, that there should be no brawling among friends.

"It was only a joke, comrade," he said, sullenly, and flung himself
heavily into his empty seat. The hunchback nodded grimly.

"I like a joke as well as any man," he said, "and can make one myself if
occasion serve."

Therewith he seated himself anew, and, pulling the book from his bosom,
resumed his reading and his silent mouthing, while something of a gloom
brooded over his fellows at the table. It was to dissipate this gloom
that presently the man who sat at the head of the table, a bald and
red-faced fellow who looked a German, and who seemed to exercise some
kind of headship over the others, pushed back his chair a little from the
board and glanced half anxiously and half angrily towards the inn door.
Then he thumped his red fist upon the wood till the flagons clattered and
rattled.

"Why don't the late dogs come to heel?" he grumbled, speaking with a
strong Teutonic accent.