"Come, let us have it, or I'll shoot you like the spy I believe you are!"
"You may shoot me for telling you," said Kentish, with a quiet laugh and shrug.
"No, I shall not, unless it turns out that you're ground-bait for the police."
"That I am not," said Kentish, growing serious in his turn. "But, since you insist, I have come to persuade you to give up every one of these letters which you have no earthly right to touch."
Their eyes met. Stingaree's were the wider open, and in an instant the less stern. He dropped his revolver, with a laugh, into its old place at his side.
"Mad or sane," said he, "I shall be under the unpleasant necessity of leaving you rather securely tied to one of these trees."
"I don't believe you will," returned Kentish, without losing a shade of his rich coloring. "But in any case I suppose we may have a chat first? I give you my word that you are safe from further intrusion to the level best of my knowledge and belief. May I sit down instead of standing?"
"You may."
"We are a good many yards apart."
"You may reduce them by half. There."