“How many revolvers have you got in there with you?” the doctor asked; and then, with a motion of his hand, he showed his companions the manner in which the chain had been twisted about the coffin, most effectually imprisoning the person inside.
The prisoner returned no answer to the doctor’s question, until it had been twice repeated; then he sulkily answered—
“Two.”
“Well, that is about as many as one man can use at a time,” the doctor remarked coolly.
“Seems as if I had heard that fellow’s voice somewhere before,” remarked one of the miners to the man standing beside him.
“So have I,” replied the other; then both were silent, as the doctor began to speak again.
“Now, first of all, before we set about getting you out of this fix, we want to know what made you choose such a means of conveyance, why you came, and what you came for,” said the doctor.
But the imprisoned man made no reply to this; and after a minute or two of waiting, the doctor went on, in a calm tone—
“If you don’t choose to tell us what we want to know, you can stay where you are until morning. The police will find it very easy to convey you to Lytton, trussed up in that fashion, and I dare say they will be able to make you speak, though we have failed to do it.”
“I’ll speak fast enough, if you’ll only let me out,” pleaded the prisoner, who appeared to be in a regular panic regarding his position.