“Shut your eyes,” cried Dicky, and a voice came from the wood:
“They’re shut.”
“Now,” said Mr Murphy to the half-naked figure before him, “I’ll give yiz a chanst. I’m goin’ to count five; at the fifth sthroke I’ll fire if there’s a speck of yiz to be seen. Use your legs—Wan—two—three—four——Mr Fanshawe, sir!”
“Yes?”
“Did yiz happen to see a party be the name of Billy Croom around here anywhere in the neebourhood to-day?”
“I did,” said Mr Fanshawe, “but he seems to have gone.”
“Faith,” said Mr Murphy, putting his leg over the edge of his fortress and scrambling down, “he’s left his clothes behint him.” He approached Mr Fanshawe and the trembling Con. “There’s a lady in the wood, sir, and maybe you’ll be escorthin’ her home. Good-mornin’, Con Cogan, I have a word to say with you.”
“Don’t lave me with him, sir,” implored Con, “or it’s me brains he’ll be blowin’ out.”
“Don’t you be afear’d, sir,” said Paddy; “sure, he hasn’t any brains to blow. I’m not goin’ to hurt a feather of him.”
“Well, I can’t stay here all day,” said Mr Fanshawe; “you must settle your differences between you. What are you going to do? The police will have you, sure. Why don’t you get out of the country?”