“Am I asleep or awake—that’s what I want to know?” cried Major O’Teague. “And I want to know it badly too, for what’s the drift of all these hints and all this aimless talk baffles me. Look you here, Mr. Long, you tell me you crossed swords with Captain Mathews quite lately; well, sir, if that is the truth, will you tell me why you should object to fight with him now?”
“Sir,” said Mr. Long, “Mr. Mathews was in the disguise of a footpad on that road between those trees and the iron gate opposite, and I fought for my life against him and his two confederates.”
Major O’Teague did not allow any one to see how startled he was. He stroked his chin and pursed out his lips. There was a long pause before he said:
“And that is the evidence you bring forward of a very remarkable affair, sir—that scrap of rag?”
“Psha! sir, I have as much evidence of that remarkable affair as would suffice to hang the dean and chapter of a cathedral!” said Mr. Long.
“Pray give us an example of it, sir,” said the major. “Juries in this country don’t hang even dogs, to say nothing of deans, on the evidence of a scrap of rag.”
“That’s it,” said Mathews; his voice was a trifle husky—he had not had much practice in speaking for some minutes. “That’s it!—Major O’Teague, you are my friend: I ask no better friend. Let the fellow produce his evidence.”
“I will,” said Mr. Long.
He took a few steps toward the trees around the knoll where Dick had fancied he saw some figures moving. He raised a finger, and at this signal two men clad in homespun hastened down the meadow.
Mathews’ jaw fell.