A second little griding of laughter was his response.
“Here be a mouching toff,” croaked one of the rascals that held him.
“Give us the griffin, l’utenant,” quoth another hoarsely.
“Stow your cursed babble!” yawped a voice that the captive recognized; “and tie his hands behind him.”
He had not been able to suppress a start at the tones, though he cursed himself for his weakness; but now he looked forward cool and steady as the speaker faced him.
“Oh, Mr. Brander!” he said—“so you captain this amiable company? I see, I see.”
“Why, sir,” said the pedagogue sourly, “you may have stumbled through the fifth proposition and yet lack penetration. I have not the honour to lead in this business.”
“Will you answer me a question?”
“Not one. Are his hands tied, you?”
“As fast as your tongue, sir, I can assure you. Mr. Corby here, whom I recognize by his bashfulness, has spliced me as conscientiously as he would bud a rose. How is gardening doing, Joe?”