"Take care, my dear sir, that this is not some lure?" said Morley, interposing.
"Lure?" repeated Mr. Basset, turning pale again.
"A snare, perhaps."
"Aye—a regular plant—they're rum chaps, these Spaniards and Yankees," added Noah, sententiously.
"Nevertheless, I shall try," replied the good easy man, as he thought of his two poor girls, and hoped the time was almost come when they might be considered comparatively safe.
"You have your revolver, sir?" asked Morley.
"All right," replied Mr. Basset, slapping his breast confidently.
"Is it loaded?"
"Yes—of course."
"Let me see it, please?"