CHAPTER XXVII—THE RETURN OF THE O’MAHONY.
Bernard had never before had occasion to look into the small and ominously black muzzle of a loaded revolver. An involuntary twitching seized upon his muscles as he did so now, but his presence of mind did not desert him.
“No! Don’t shoot!” he called out. The words shook as he uttered them, and seemed to his nervously acute hearing to be crowded parts of a single sound. “That’s rank foolishness!” he added, hurriedly. “There’s no trick! Nobody dreams of touching you. I give you my word I’m more astonished than you are!”
The major seemed to be somewhat impressed by the candor of the young man’s tone. He did not lower the weapon, but he shifted his finger away from the trigger.
“That may or may not be the case,” he said with a studious affectation of calm in his voice. “At all events, you will at once do as I said.”
“But see here,” urged Bernard, “there’s an explanation to everything. I’ll swear that old O’Daly was put in here by our friend here—Jerry Higgins. That’s straight, isn’t it, Jerry?”
“It is, sir!” said Jerry, fervently, with eye askance on the revolver.
“And it’s evident enough that he couldn’t have got out by himself.”
“That he never did, sir.”
“Well, then—let’s figure. How many people know of this place?”