This apparition caused the furious idiot to suspend hostilities on the instant.
All eyes were turned toward the three men. All voices were hushed. There was a whisper in the air that something strange was about to happen.
The man who entered first was a stranger, who moved and looked about in the quick, nervous way born of city life. The other two men were well-known residents of the village. Some of the audience had had unpleasant cause to know them.
Having locked the door, and stationed his associates in a position to command the windows, the stranger walked quickly up the aisle, bearing his lighted candle, and said, in a loud voice, which fell strangely on the hushed assemblage:
"Marcus Wilkeson will be kind enough to give himself up. Upon my honor, he cannot escape." This was said with a charming politeness.
A tall figure arose at the wall end of one of the back seats. "I am Marcus Wilkeson. What do you want with me, sir?" His voice trembled, and his face was livid.
"To go with me to New York, Mr. Wilkeson," said the tall stranger, quickly. "Thank you for your promptness in answering. The only clue that I had, was the hasty measure I took of you this morning, when I was watching for an escaped convict at Cortlandt-street ferry. Perhaps you remember seeing me there, sir?"
Marcus, though the sudden shock had almost stunned him, at once recalled the man who had eyed him narrowly at the ferry that morning.
The two other candle bearers had stepped forward as Marcus declared himself, and were about to lay hold of him, when the first man smilingly pushed them back, and said:
"Don't touch him. It's all right. Mr. Wilkeson is a gentleman, and will go quietly."