The lower prisoner now began to complain, and with cause, for his brother was lying across his chest, so that he had the weight of two to bear; but Vane reached down suddenly and placed his fist on the lad’s nose, with a heavy grinding motion.
“You dare to move, that’s all,” he growled, threateningly, and the lad drew a deep breath, and lay still, while Distin went on as if something within him were forcing this confession.
“There,” he said, “it’s all over now. They’ve kept out of sight of the police all this time, and sent messages to me from where they were in hiding, and I’ve had to come and pay them. I’ve been like a slave to them, and they’ve degraded me till I’ve felt as if I couldn’t bear it.”
“And all for what?” said Vane, angrily. “I never did you any harm.”
“I couldn’t help it,” said Distin. “I hated you, I suppose. I tell you, I’ve behaved like a blackguard, and I suppose I shall be punished for it, but I’d rather it was so than go on like I have lately.”
“Look here,” cried Vane, savagely, and he raised himself up a little as if he were riding on horseback, and then nipped his human steed with his knees, and bumped himself down so heavily that both the gipsy lads yelled. “Yes, I meant to hurt you. I say, look here, I know what you both mean. You are going to try and heave me off, and run for it, but don’t you try it, my lads, or it will be the worse for you. It’s my turn this time, and you don’t get away, so be still. Do you hear? Lie still!”
Vane’s voice sounded so deep and threatening that the lads lay perfectly quiescent, and Distin went on.
“Better get out your handkerchief,” he said, taking out his own, “and we’ll tie their hands behind them, and march them to Bates’ place.”
“You’ll help me then?” said Vane.
“Yes.”