The question came quick as a flash. I knew he was trying to disconcert the fellow.
"My name is Mike O'Brien, sorr, gardener; you remimber, 'twas me that helped you last time, sorr."
"You mean you stood by and let the others help me, Mike."
We knew now that this was the indifferent gardener of whom Oakes had spoken.
"Thrue for ye, sorr; 'twas little enough I did, and that's a fact; I'm not used to being scared to death like ye be, sorr." Was that an unintentional shot, or was it a "feeler"?
Oakes had a sharp customer before him, and he knew it.
"Where were you when you heard the shots, Mike?"
"In the woods at the front of the house. I was raking up the leaves, be the same token."
"What did you see?" Oakes spoke in a commanding voice and fingered the breech of his revolver in a suggestive way.