"I am, am I?" said Obed, with a grim smile.
"A prisoner! My friend, that is a difficult thing to come to pass without my consent."
And saying this, he quietly drew a revolver from his breast pocket.
"Now," said he, "my good friend, look here. I have this little instrument, and I'm a dead shot. I don't intend to be humbugged. If any one of you dare to make a movement I'll put a bullet through you. And you, you scoundrel, stand where you are, or you'll get the first bullet. You've got hold of the wrong man this time, but I'm going to get satisfaction for this out of your infernal beggarly government. As to you, answer my questions. First, who the deuce do you take me to be? You've made some infernal mistake or other."
The agent cowered beneath the stern eye of Obed. He felt himself covered by his pistol, and did not dare to move. The gens d'armes looked disturbed, but made no effort to interfere. They felt that they had to do with a desperate man, and waited for orders.
"Don't you hear my question?" thundered Obed. "What the deuce is the meaning of this, and who the deuce do you take me for? Don't move," he cried, seeing a faint movement of the agent's hand; "or I'll blow your brains out; I will, by the Eternal!"
"Beware," faltered the agent; "I belong to the police. I am doing my duty."
"Pooh! What is your beggarly police to me, or your beggarly king either, and all his court? There are a couple of Yankee frigates out there that could bring down the whole concern in a half hour's bombardment. You've made a mistake, you poor, pitiful concern; but I'm in search of information, and I'm bound to get it. Answer me now without any more humbugging. What's the meaning of this?"
"I was ordered to watch for any one who might come here and ask for '_Miss Lorton_,'" said the agent, who spoke like a criminal to a judge. "I have watched here for seven weeks. You came to-day, and you are under arrest."
"Ah?" said Obed, as a light began to flash upon him. "Who ordered you to watch?"