"That remains to be told by the jury. You see the head of Bill Budge, just above you, Hartly? He was caught in an intended act of treachery, and you see his end. If Bill could speak, he'd tell you that the fate of the traitor is hard."
"You're a cussed liar!" Budge's suspended remnant seemed to say, in a deep, hoarse voice.
The captain and the jury uttered each a startled oath, and gazed at the offending head in astonishment.
"Who called me a liar?" Gregg demanded, fiercely. "By the gods, I thought it was Budge's lips that uttered those words."
"So it was!" the head seemed to say; then there was a gurgling sort of laugh, and the head shook, perceptibly.
"Ten thousand furies!" Gregg yelled, and hastily wrenching open the door, he made a hasty exit from the room, followed by the jurors—nor did they stop, short of the bottom of the stairs.
Hartly did not leave the room, but dismounting from his perch upon the table, walked off a few paces to where he could get a good look at Budge's unfortunate pate.
"Something deuced funny, here, I'm blowed if there ain't!" he soliloquized, apparently quite composed. "It's the first time I have ever heard dead men talk. I say, Budge, how's the temperature up your way?"
"Two t'ousand degrees above blood heat," seemed to issue from between the gleaming teeth.
"Humph! pretty warm, that, I must admit," Hartly said, looking still more puzzled.