CHAPTER V
"YOUR 'papers'?" said Forister. "Damn you and your papers. What would I know of your papers?"
"I mean," said I fiercely, "the papers that you stole out of my chamber in the inn at Bristol."
The man actually sank back in his chair and laughed me up to the roof.
"'Papers'!" he shouted. "Here 's the king of the Irelands thinking that I have made off with his papers!"
"You choose a good time for laughing," said I, with more sobriety. In a short time you will be laughing with the back of your head."
He sat up and looked at me with quick decision.
"Now, what is all this rubbish about papers?" he said sharply. "What have I to do with your filthy papers? I had one intention regarding you,—of that I am certain. I was resolved to kill you on the first occasion when we could cross swords, but—'papers'—faugh! What do you mean?"
The hoarse voice of Jem Bottles broke in from somewhere behind me. "We might easily throw him to the earth and tie him, sir, and then make search of him."
"And you would know how to go about the business, I warrant me," laughed Forister. "You muzzle-faced rogue, you!"
