“You’ll be dead if you do, take my word for it. Drop down on the ground.”
Patsy obeyed, falling with a thud when he let go of his support. He could not have clung on much longer.
“Get him by the legs, Jim, and pull him out,” Deland commanded. “Watch that he don’t reach for a gun.”
“If he does, blast him, I’ll break his head,” Margate snarled, while he and Pitman seized Patsy’s heels and dragged him from under the wagon.
“Bring a piece of rope, Ruff,” said Deland, with revolver ready. “Stand him on his feet, Jim. Do you know him?”
Patsy saw that resistance would be nothing less than madness. He suffered the two ruffians to yank him to his feet, and when they did so his disguise was jostled out of place.
Margate saw it and jerked it from his face.
“Perdition!” He recoiled with a gasp. “It’s young Garvan, one of Nick Carter’s push.”
Deland came nearer, till the muzzle of his revolver touched Patsy’s breast. He did not appear to be in the least disturbed by the discovery, not more than when Chick intruded upon him that morning. His nerves were, apparently, as stiff as steel.
“Oh, is that so?” he inquired icily. “Are you sure of it, Jim?”