CHAPTER X I AM SUSPECTED OF THE BLACK ART
"Vibart!"
The word had been uttered close behind me, and very softly, yet I started at this sudden mention of my name and stood for a moment with my hammer poised above the anvil ere I turned and faced the speaker. He was a tall man with a stubbly growth of grizzled hair about his lank jaws, and he was leaning in at that window of the smithy which gave upon a certain grassy back lane.
"You spoke, I think!" said I.
"I said, 'Vibart'!"
"Well?"
"Well?"
"And why should you say 'Vibart'?"
"And why should you start?" Beneath the broad, flapping hat his eyes glowed with a sudden intensity as he waited my answer.
"It is familiar," said I.
"Ha! familiar?" he repeated, and his features were suddenly contorted as with a strong convulsion, and his
