“He is drunk, Mr. Schofield,” broke in Nevins, quickly. "I smelt it on his breath. I’ll have the law on him. He assaulted me out there in a ditch and nearly killed me. I’ll see if a man’s to be treated that way by a big, drunken bully—"
But Mr. Schofield stopped him with a gesture.
“That will do,” he said, coldly. “Don’t lie about it. I know that Welsh isn’t drunk. We’ll have his story first, and then yours. Fire away, Jack.”
“Well,” began Jack, “jest as th’ torpedy went off—”
“Which torpedo?”
“Why, th’ one that th’ special exploded.”
“Oh, begin further back than that—begin at the beginning.”
“Well, then, jest as I jammed th’ torpedy on th’ track—”
“Was it you put it on the track?” cried Mr. Schofield.
“Why, sure,” said Jack. “Didn’t ye know that? Who else could it ’a’ been?”