‘And when I think of what I saw here yesterday, of that poor old man stabbed by your bloodthirsty crew—’
‘It was an accident,’ he cried sharply; the voice had lost its dreaminess and sounded clear now.
‘We’ll see about that when we get Constantine and Vlacho before a judge,’ I retorted grimly. ‘Anyhow, he was foully stabbed in his own house for doing what he had a perfect right to do.’
‘He had no right to sell the island,’ cried the boy, and he rose for a moment to his feet with a proud air, only to sink back into the chair again and stretch out his hand for water.
Now at this moment Denny, refreshed by meat and drink and in the highest of spirits, bounded into the hall.
‘How’s the prisoner?’ he cried.
‘Oh, he’s all right. There’s nothing the matter with him,’ I said, and as I spoke I moved the lantern, so that the boy’s face and figure were again in shadow.
‘That’s all right,’ observed Denny cheerfully. ‘Because I thought, Charley, we might get a little information out of him.’
‘Perhaps he won’t speak,’ I suggested, casting a glance at the captive who sat now motionless in the chair.
‘Oh, I think he will,’ said Denny confidently: and I observed for the first time that he held a very substantial-looking whip in his hand; he must have found it in the kitchen. ‘We’ll give the young ruffian a taste of this, if he’s obstinate,’ said Denny, and I cannot say that his tone witnessed any great desire that the boy should prove at once compliant.