W. W. Jacobs

“ The innkeeper, without a word, drew a little gold and silver from his pocket, and placing it on the table, pushed it toward him.
"Enough to go on with," said the other, pocketing it; "in future it is halves. D'ye hear me? Halves! And I'll stay here and see I get it."
He sat back in his chair, and meeting the other's hatred with a gaze as steady as his own, replaced his pistol.
"A nice snug harbor after our many voyages," he continued. "Shipmates we were, shipmates we'll be; while Nick Gunn is alive you shall never want for company. Lord! ”

“ Gunn drew himself up, and regarding him with a satisfied sneer, quitted the room without a word.
Affairs at the "Golden Key" grew steadily worse and worse. Gunn dominated the place, and his vile personality hung over it like a shadow. Appeals to the innkeeper were in vain; his health was breaking fast, and he moodily declined to interfere. Gunn appointed servants of his own choosing-brazen maids and foul-mouthed men. The old patrons ceased to frequent the "Golden Key," and its bedrooms stood empty. The maids scarcely deigned to take an order from Joan, and the men spoke to her familiarly. ”

“ Look as a man should look who has just met an old friend never to lose him again."
He eyed his man expectantly and put his hand to his pocket again, but the innkeeper's face was troubled, and he gazed stolidly at the fire.
"See what fifteen years' honest, decent life does for us," grinned the intruder.
The other made no reply, but rising slowly, walked to the door without a word.
"Landlord," cried Gunn, bringing his maimed hand sharply down on the table. ”

“ Pray God for your own sinful soul, that the devil in me does not wake again."
"Fifteen years is a long nap," said Gunn, carelessly; "what a godsend it 'll be for you to have me by you to remind you of old times! Why, you're looking smug, man; the honest innkeeper to the life! Gad! who's the girl?"
He rose and made a clumsy bow as a girl of eighteen, after a moment's hesitation at the door, crossed over to the innkeeper.
"I'm busy, my dear," said the latter, somewhat sternly.
"Our business," said Gunn, with another bow, "is finished. Is this your daughter, Rog— Mullet?" ”

“ He crossed the room lightly, and standing before the unconscious woman, inspected her closely and raised her in the chair. Her head fell limply over the arm.
"Dead?" inquired Mullet, in a fearful whisper.
"Drugged," said Gunn, shortly. "Now speak up, and be lively."
The innkeeper's eyes again travelled in the direction of the nurse.
"The men," he whispered; "the servants."
"Dead drunk and asleep," said Gunn, biting the words. "The last day would hardly rouse them. Now will you speak, damn you!"
"I must—take care—of Joan," said the father. ”

“ Do you remember the Dutch brig, and the fat frightened mate?"
"I have forgotten it," said the other, still eyeing him steadfastly. "I have forgotten many things. For fifteen years I have lived a decent, honest life. ”