"Drop that club! We 'll discuss this case later. There—no, up with your hands; both of them. Turn around slowly; ah, I see you don 't tote a gun down here. So much the better, for now we can get along to business with fewer preliminaries."
He kicked the released pick-helve to one side out of sight in the darkness, his watchful eyes never straying from the Irishman's face. Burke stood sputtering curses, his hands held high, his fighting face red from impotent passion. The trembling light gave to the scene a fantastic effect, grimly humorous.
"Who—who the divil be ye?" The surprised man thrust his head yet farther forward in an effort to make the flame more clearly reveal the other's features. Winston drew the peak of his miner's cap lower.
"That will make very little difference to you, Jack Burke," he said quietly, "if I have any occasion to turn loose this arsenal. However, stand quiet, and it will afford me pleasure to give you all necessary information. Let us suppose, for instance, that I am a person to whom Biff Farnham desires to sell some stock in this mine; becoming interested, I seek to discover its real value for myself, and come down with the night shift. Quite a natural proceeding on my part, is n't it? Now, under such circumstances, I presume you, as foreman, would be perfectly willing to show me exactly what is being accomplished down here?"
He paused, his lips smiling pleasantly, and Burke stared at him, with mouth wide open, his eyes mere black slits in the gloom. It was a full minute before he regained control of his voice.
"Ye think Oi 'm a dommed fool?" he ejaculated, hoarsely.
"No; that is exactly what I do not think, Burke," and Winston smiled again beneath his stern gray eyes. "That is precisely why I know you will show me all I desire to see. A damn fool might possibly be tempted to take chances with this gun, and get hurt, but you are smart enough to understand that I 've got the drop all right, and that I mean business—I mean business." These words were uttered slowly, deliberately, and the foreman involuntarily dropped his lids as though feeling them physically, the fingers of his uplifted hands clinching.
"What—what is it ye want to see?"
"That tunnel you 've got concealed by falsework."
Burke spat against the rock wall, the perspiration standing forth on his forehead. But Irish pugnacity made him stubborn.