Foxy rose as though moved by a spring. "You're on that lay, are you?" said he shrilly; "then you've come to the wrong shop."
"Oh, I guess not, said Horace lazily--to the right shop. You see, Mister," he went on to the elder ruffian, "we want that wooden hand."
"What wooden hand?" asked Father Don. "If you mean----"
"Yes, I do mean that," said Allen quickly; "you brought it to Mr. Mask to get the money."
"Did I?" said Father Don coolly and eyeing the young man; "well, maybe I did. But I didn't take it from the dead?"
Allen coloured. "Merry took it," he said.
"Oh no, he didn't," sneered Foxy. "Merry got it from Butsey, who dug it up after it had been planted by----"
"Stop," said Allen, rising. "Father Don," he added, turning to the old man, "you seem to be a gentleman----"
"I was once. But what's that got to do with this?"
"Stop this man," he pointed to Foxy, "from mentioning names."