“Why is it stored here?”
“For safety.”
“Were your men storing this bomb,” taking the clumsy exhibit from his pocket, “under my cottage for safety?” Ned demanded.
“I don’t know anything about that,” was the reply. “Return my papers.”
Instead of returning them, Ned took the packet from his pocket and made a quick examination so far as the light would permit, of the half dozen letters it held.
The captive writhed about and cursed fluently until Jimmie touched his forehead with the muzzle of his gun and warned him against “starting anything he couldn’t finish,” as the boy expressed it.
“Now,” Ned said to Jimmie, restoring the letters to his pocket, “you march this pirate off toward the cottage while I scare the others out of the bomb-room and blow it up.”
“Blow it up before they get out,” urged the boy.
“I am no executioner,” Ned replied. “They doubtless deserve to be put to death, but I’m not the one to do it.”
“Wait,” said the captive, as Jimmie motioned him away. “If you will give me a chance to tell my side of the story those letters reveal, I may be able to establish my innocence. I can make it worth your while to listen to me,” he added, significantly.