“Then good-by to Cony Ryan’s pancakes,” said Duncan, finishing the sentence for his companion. “What is that point on which you wish to come to the plainest kind of an understanding with us?” he added, in the hope of turning the conversation into another channel. He was afraid that Don might begin a vigorous cross-questioning, and find a flaw or two in the story he had told him regarding that key.
“It is this,” replied Don: “When that floor-guard, whatever his name is, let me in, he told me to keep mum; or, if I opened my lips at all, to deny everything. Now, that is something I’ll not do to please or screen anybody.”
Don’s companions were utterly astounded. They withdrew their arms from his, and stood off and looked at him.
“I didn’t think you were that sort of a chap,” said Fisher.
“Neither did I,” exclaimed Duncan. “We have been deceived in you.”
“You certainly have, if you picked me up for that kind of a fellow,” answered Don, boldly, “and you had better drop me like a hot potato. All the secrets you have intrusted to my keeping are perfectly safe with me; but I want you to understand that I will not tell a barefaced lie, if I should chance to be hauled up, to keep you or any one else out of trouble.”
“Do you mean to say that you will confess if you are hauled up?” demanded Duncan.
“If the superintendent asks me if I ran the guard last night, I shall tell him the truth. That’s what I mean.”
“And give the rest of us away too?” exclaimed Fisher.
“By no means,” answered Don, quickly. “I didn’t say that. If he asks me any questions I don’t want to answer, I can keep my mouth shut, can’t I?”