“One at a time, mister,” replied the man with the lantern. “There’s a man inside who can answer these questions for you.”
A sudden light penetrated the mind of the Sepoy. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “I understand.”
“That’s good, mister; it will save a deal of explanation.”
“These men, then,” muttered the Sepoy to himself, “are the subordinates of the detective within.”
At that moment the moon slipped out from behind a mask of cloud and silhouetted the three.
By its light the prisoner examined the grim countenances before him. “Surely,” he decided, “there is nothing in these features to indicate a strenuous moral objection to the bribery of the contents of my traveling-case,” and at the thought of the absurd discrepancy between his present predicament and the cynical altitudes of a short time since, and as he considered the humiliation awaiting him when he was compelled once more to face the detective, he decided to venture on another attempt to purchase his freedom.
With this thought he was about to place the case he carried on the ground, when one of the men, remarking his movement and mistaking its purpose, cried: “Here; none of that!”
“But,” expostulated the Sepoy, “you do not——”
“Shut up!” replied the fellow coarsely. “Come inside and show us where you have left the chief. You here, the boss in there—something’s wrong.”
With a muttered curse, and urged by no ceremonious hands, the Sepoy reascended the steps.