“Brettison!” roared Stratton.
“Mr Brettison, have you taken leave of your senses?” cried Sir Mark. “James Barron!”
“Bah!” said the convict, “the game is up. Henderson’s my name, Sam Henderson, James Barron’s fellow-prisoner and mate. Poor old Dandy Jem was shot dead that night! Where’s Stratton?” he cried, with a curious change coming over him. “Ah! there. Now, man, no shuffling. The game’s in my hands, you know. Come, pay up like a man. They’re waiting for you—at the church—my wife—what’s her name—pretty Myra—my mate Jem’s widow—gentleman James, sir—all the swell—but I did it—I engraved the notes.”
He smiled and chuckled.
“Proud of them. Puzzled the clever ones. The Rothschilds hardly knew, eh, Jem? Well, you always were a swell. And so you mean to marry the gal? Well, I warn you; it’s getting too hot. Better cut off together till the scent’s cold. There, I’ve warned you. I thought so: nabbed. All right, gentlemen, I’ll come quietly. Easy with my mate. Going to be married this morning. Do you hear, Stratton? married this morning! My wife, you can have her. My little widow. Hush! quiet, will you. We shall never do it. Oh, yes, I’m game. Ugh, hard work. They’re after us, and we shall have to rush ’em. Right, Jem. I’ll stand any risk. Hold together, and then down the rocks!”
The man’s face was working horribly, and his eyes were dilated with excitement as he rambled on wildly, mingling up the past in one tangle of confusion as he, in brief, gave suggestions to the horrified listeners of the various scenes enacted in his life.
“Now, then,” he whispered, “ready. Off. Ah!” he shrieked, “don’t shoot—don’t shoot. Cowards! Ugh! the water—a long swim—but it’s for life—for life; and poor old Jem—handsome Jem, shot—shot!”
The man’s whole manner changed; the twitching of the muscles, the excited playing of the nerves, and the wild look in the eyes gave place to the vacant, heavy stare, and his hand rose slowly to his neck, and played about the back of his ear.
“Shot,” he said, “shot,” looking up at the admiral and smiling. “A bullet—behind the ear—never found it yet—never found—”
“Quick!” cried Stratton, stepping forward so as to hide the ghastly contortions that crossed the man’s face from the ladies clinging together in a frightened group.