“But I haven’t done anything! It wasn’t me!”
“Don’t think to deceive us with thy false tales.”
“But you know I didn’t do a thing, Ready! Why, you——”
Jack, however, raised such a racket that Bingham’s words were drowned and the big fellow was dragged back into the shed, where the hose was found on the ground, still hissing and squirting.
Two men who had been drenched volunteered to hold Bingham. A dozen were eager to play the hose. They gave it to him at once. He ducked his head, and the water struck him under his collar at the back of his neck and poured down his back. It seemed to take the strength out of him and leave him gasping and helpless for the moment. Then that cold and chilling stream played all over him.
Jack Ready stood aside, his hands clasped, a look of sadness on his face and deep joy in his heart.
“It is ever thus,” he said to himself, “that the innocent man ever gets it in the neck, while the other chap gets off and becomes a hero. Let this be a lesson to you, Jack, my boy, to always take care not to be the innocent one.”
They did not let up on Bingham till the big soph was drenched to the skin and in a furious mood. He broke away from the fellows who were holding him and rushed from the shed, vowing he would murder Ready on sight.
“I’ve had a lovely time to-night,” whispered Jack still to himself; “but something tells me that I had better fade away. Here is where I fade.”
He managed to escape from the shed, round which he stole, making off into the gloom. At a distance, watching the men near the shed, stood a lonely figure. Jack drew near and saw it was Bertrand Defarge.