"It's the 'tecs," said Father Don savagely.
"I guess not. We've come to do business."
This remark seemed to stimulate the curiosity of the two men, and they refrained from a shout which would have brought in all the riff-raff without. Allen congratulated himself, that Parkins had roused this curiosity. He had no desire to fight in a dark cellar with his back to the wall against a score of ruffians. In a few minutes the lamp was lighted. "Turn it up, Foxy," said Father Don; "and now, gentlemen," he added politely, "how did you get here?"
"A boy called Billy brought us," said Allen stepping forward. "I fear we've frightened the lady away."
"Let her go, the jade," said Foxy shrilly; "there would have been a heap of trouble if she'd remained," and he confirmed this speech with several oaths.
Father Don did not swear. He spoke in a clear, refined, and educated voice, and apparently was a well-educated man who had fallen into the depths through some rascality. But his face looked most benevolent, and no one would have suspected him of being a ruffian of the worst. He eyed Allen piercingly, and also his companion. "Well, gentlemen," he asked quietly, "and what can I do for you?" Horace sat down heavily and pulled out his pipe. "We may as well talk comfortably," he said. "Sit down, Hill."
"Hill?" said Father Don with a start, while Foxy opened his small eyes--"not of Wargrove?"
"The same," said Allen quietly. "How do you know me?"
"I know a good many things," said Father Don calmly.
"Do you know who shot Strode?"