“Don’t waste any time, Sergeant,” said Arrelsford furiously. “Take him down the street and shoot him full of lead. Out with him.”
“Very well, sir,” said the Sergeant.
But Wilfred interposed. He came forward, Thorne’s revolver still in his hand.
“No,” he said decisively; “whatever he is, whatever he has done, he has the right to a trial.”
“The head of the Secret Service Department said to me if I found him, to shoot him at sight,” snarled Arrelsford.
“I don’t care what General Tarleton said. I captured this man; he’s in this house, and he is not going out unless he is treated fairly.”
The Sergeant looked uncertainly from Wilfred to Arrelsford. Mrs. Varney, who had entered with the rest of them, and who now stood by her daughter’s side, looked her approval at her son. The mettle of his distinguished father was surely in his veins.
“Well done,” said the woman softly, but not so softly that those about her did not hear; “your father would have spoken so.”
Arrelsford came to a sudden decision.
“Well, let him have a trial. We’ll give him a drumhead court-martial, but it will be the quickest ever held on earth. Stack your muskets here, and organise a court,” he said.