He tossed a small bag on the table where it clinked musically.
"The price of a magician's life!" he boasted. "What say you, my sour friend?"
This last was addressed to a tall silent man who sat near the fire. This man, gaunt, powerful and somberly dressed, turned his darkly pallid face toward the speaker and fixed him with a pair of deep icy eyes.
"I say," said he in a low powerful voice "that you have this day done a damnable deed. Yon necromancer was worthy of death, belike, but he trusted you, naming you his one friend, and you betrayed him for a few filthy coins. Methinks you will meet him in Hell, some day."
The first speaker, a short, stocky and evil-faced fellow, opened his mouth as for an angry retort and then hesitated. The icy eyes held his for an instant, then the tall man rose with a smooth cat-like motion and strode from the tap-room in long, springy strides.
"Who is yon?" asked the boaster resentfully. "Who is he to uphold magicians against honest men? By God, he is lucky to cross words with John Redly and keep his heart in's bosom!"
The tavern-keeper leaned forward to secure an ember for his long-stemmed pipe and answered dryly:
"And you be lucky, too, John, for keepin' tha' mouth shut. That be Solomon Kane, the Puritan, a man dangerouser than a wolf."