Looking straight into his eyes, his own said he had resolved to know nothing whatever about this criminal on the cider-cask.

The two men telegraphed to each other a perfect understanding, and then Detricand turned on his heel, and walked away into the crowd.
The sudden change in the old man's appearance had not been lost on the spectators, but they set it down to weakness or a sudden sickness.

One ran for a glass of brandy, another for cider, and an old woman handed up to him a mogue of cinnamon drops.
The old man tremblingly drank the brandy.

When he looked again Detricand had disappeared.

A dark, sinister expression crossed his face, an evil thought pulled down the corners of his mouth as he stepped from the cask.