counting his gains, the boy sobbing against the bank on which he had thrown himself, and the monkey gibbering and chattering overhead–a dark shapeless object on an invisible rope. For night was falling: where the fun of the fair was not were gloom and a rising wind, lurking cutpurses, and waste land.The showman seemed to feel this, for having counted his takings, he kicked up the boy and began to pack up. He had nearly finished, and was stooping over the coil of rope, securing the end, when a touch on his shoulder caused him to jump a yard. A tall man wrapped in a cloak, who had come up unseen, stood at his elbow.
“Well!” the showman cried, striving to hide his alarm under an appearance of bluster. “And what may you want?”
“A word with you,” the unknown answered.
The voice was so cold and passionless it gave Crafty Eyes a turn. “Diable!” he muttered, striving to pierce the darkness and see what the other was like. But he could not; so as to shake off the impression, he asked, wi