“What burglars?” asked Mr Fanshawe.
“The ones I tould you I dhramed of,” replied Patsy. “I wasn’t dhramin’ at all——”
“Then what on earth were you doing?” asked Mr Fanshawe, in whose mind vague suspicious of Patsy’s sanity were beginning to arise.
“I was only pritindin’,” replied Patsy.
“Look here,” said Mr Fanshawe, “just pull yourself together and clear your mind—what’s all this about burglars and murderers? Out with it, you young beggar, before I take a hunting crop to you.”
Encouraged like this, Patsy told his tale.
“To-morrow night at twelve, do you say?” asked Mr Fanshawe. “Why, the matter is simple enough: we must tell the police, that’s all.”
“The p’leece!” said Patsy with fine contempt. “Sure, the p’leece are all at the other side of the country where the cattle dhrivin’ is goin’ on. Mr Fanshawe, sir!”
“Yes, Patsy?”
“I was thinkin’ if you was to load wan of thim guns of yours up to the muzzle wid bu’lets——”