“What makes that man look so funny, pa-pa?” whispered the professor’s offspring inquiringly.
“Hush,” cautioned the professor; “he’s going to speak.”
“Waal, gents,” began Simon Lake harshly, “we’ve got considerable more of a crew on board this craft than we started out with. Ther only question in my mind is wot ter do with yer.”
Certainly Simon Lake had a way of coming to the point without beating about the bush, which might be imitated by some of our legal lights and other public luminaries.
As no one answered, and he did not seem to expect them to, he resumed:
“Of course, I might chuck the whole shootin’ match of yer overboard. But I ain’t goin’ ter do it. You, Chillingworth, I don’t see as you’re entitled ter any mercy. You’d hev made it hard fer me ef yer could. You’d hev seen me ahind bars ef you’d hed yer way—wouldn’t yer now?”
“Well, since you put it so directly, Simon Lake, I certainly would have done my best to secure your being put out of business, so far as your nefarious trade is concerned.”
“Ah, but yer didn’t,” grinned Simon Lake maliciously, “and now I’ve got yer right whar I want yer—an’ I’m goin’ ter keep yer, too. Lucky I nailed yer afore you could carry out yer little idee of settin’ ther Secret Service onter me—eh?”
“He knows nothing about Sam Hartley, then,” thought Tom, with a flash of distinct relief.
As Mr. Chillingworth made no answer except to look the rascal straighter in the eye, Lake resumed.