"I was about to ask that same question," said Peveril. "What are you doing here?"
"Yes, be jabers! That's what we want to know. What be yous doing here?" chimed in Mike Connell.
At that moment a wild-looking, white-headed figure suddenly appeared on the scene, and, with one searching glance at Peveril, who stood fully revealed in the light of Mike Connell's lantern, levelled a pistol full at him. As he did so, a cry of terror rang through the rock-hewn chamber, and a pair of soft arms were flung about the old man from behind. By this his aim was so disconcerted that, though the shot still rang out with startling effect in that confined space, its bullet flew wide of the intended mark, and Peveril stood unharmed.
In another second the schooner's captain had sprung upon the madman and wrenched the pistol from his hand, crying out:
"No, no, Mr. Darrell! There must be no murder connected with this business. It is bad enough, God knows, without having that added!"
"C'est vrai! Certainment! By gar!" shouted the Canadian.
"You bet your sweet life, old man! That sort of thing don't go down in the copper country, and it's mighty lucky for you that the young feller was on hand to kape you from carrying out your murderous intentions," said Mike Connell, sternly.
Peveril, seeing that the man, whom he had already recognized, was rendered harmless by the loss of his pistol, remained coolly silent, waiting for some cue by which his own course of action might be determined.
"I see I have made a mistake, gentlemen," said Ralph Darrell, changing his tactics with all a madman's cunning and readiness. "And I beg Mister—a—"
"Peveril," said the young man—"Richard Peveril is my name, sir."