But the one cry for help which Hardy had made was enough to cause trouble. For now, from around the corner came a crowd of men, rushing up to Jack and his prisoner.
“One word from you,” Jack warned Hardy, “and I’ll let you have it, no matter what happens to me. Don’t forget that.”
By this time the vanguard of the crowd was upon them.
“What’s the matter?” demanded a voice.
“Nothing,” replied Jack calmly. “I thought for a moment this prisoner was going to get away. He broke loose and ran down the street, but I caught him. I called for help because I feared he would get away.”
As he spoke he kept his revolver, which he grasped firmly in his pocket, pointed through the cloth full at his prisoner. Hardy saw that he was covered, and he realized that a miss at such close quarters was practically impossible. So he said nothing.
Jack’s explanation seemed to satisfy the crowd, for, after following for some distance and asking a few questions, it gradually drew off.
“You’ll never know how close you were to death,” Jack informed his prisoner. “I thought once you were going to speak, and my finger was on the trigger.”
“I saw it,” replied Hardy quietly. “I am not entirely a fool.”
“Remember it, then,” was Jack’s response.