“Out of my range, fool!” cries Vernet angrily. And then, as Charlie springs aside with absurd alacrity, he says to Alan: “Fellow, throw down that iron.”
But Alan Warburton gives no sign that he hears the command. He has not recognized the voice of Vernet, and is not aware of the man’s identity, but he has an instinctive notion that his address will not be in keeping with his nautical costume, and he is not an adept at dissimulation.
“You won’t eh?” pursues Vernet mockingly. “You are very mum? and no wonder.”
“Mum, mum,” chants Silly Charlie, approaching Alan with gingerly steps, and peering curiously into his face.
Then bending suddenly forward he whispers quickly: “Keep mum!” and bursting into an idiotic laugh, pirouettes back to the side of Vernet.
“Charlie,” says Vernet suddenly, and without once removing his eyes from Alan’s face, “put your hand in my side pocket—no, no! the other one,” as Charlie makes a sudden dive into the pocket nearest him. “That’s right; now pull out the handcuffs, and take out the rope.”
Charlie obeys eagerly, and examines the handcuffs with evident delight.
“Charlie” says Vernet, “you and I have got to make this man a prisoner. If we do, you will get your star and uniform.”
“Hooray!” cries Charlie, fairly dancing with delight. “Gimme, gum—gimme knife!”
“Why, the blood-thirsty fool!” exclaims Vernet. “No, no, Charlie; we must put on these handcuffs, and rope his feet.”