In this work Gunn, returning an hour later, clad from head to foot in new apparel, offered to assist him.  Mullett hesitated, but made no demur; neither did he join in the ecstasies which his new partner displayed at the sight of the profits.  Gunn put some more gold into his new pockets, and throwing himself back in a chair, called loudly to George to bring him some drink.

In less than a month the intruder was the virtual master of the “Golden Key.”  Resistance on the part of the legitimate owner became more and more feeble, the slightest objection on his part drawing from the truculent Gunn dark allusions to his past and threats against his future, which for the sake of his daughter he could not ignore.  His health began to fail, and Joan watched with perplexed terror the growth of a situation which was in a fair way of becoming unbearable.

The arrogance of Gunn knew no bounds.  The maids learned to tremble at his polite grin, or his worse freedom, and the men shrank appalled from his profane wrath.  George, after ten years’ service, was brutally dismissed, and refusing to accept dismissal from his hands, appealed to his master.  The innkeeper confirmed it, and with lack-lustre eyes fenced feebly when his daughter, regardless of Gunn’s presence, indignantly appealed to him.

“The man was rude to my friend, my dear,” he said dispiritedly

“If he was rude, it was because Mr. Gunn deserved it,” said Joan, hotly.

Gunn laughed uproariously.

“Gad, my dear, I like you!” he cried, slapping his leg.  “You’re a girl of spirit.  Now I will make you a fair offer.  If you ask for George to stay, stay he shall, as a favour to your sweet self.”

The girl trembled.

“Who is master here?” she demanded, turning a full eye on her father.

Mullet laughed uneasily.

“This is business,” he said, trying to speak lightly, “and women can’t understand it.  Gunn is—­is valuable to me, and George must go.”

“Unless you plead for him, sweet one?” said Gunn.

The girl looked at her father again, but he turned his head away and tapped on the floor with his foot.  Then in perplexity, akin to tears, she walked from the room, carefully drawing her dress aside as Gunn held the door for her.

“A fine girl,” said Gunn, his thin lips working; “a fine spirit.  ’Twill be pleasant to break it; but she does not know who is master here.”

“She is young yet,” said the other, hurriedly.

“I will soon age her if she looks like that at me again,” said Gunn.  “By —–­, I’ll turn out the whole crew into the street, and her with them, an’ I wish it.  I’ll lie in my bed warm o’ nights and think of her huddled on a doorstep.”

His voice rose and his fists clenched, but he kept his distance and watched the other warily.  The innkeeper’s face was contorted and his brow grew wet.  For one moment something peeped out of his eyes; the next he sat down in his chair again and nervously fingered his chin.