“Well, here you have it, then,” answered Yates, pulling out his folded pass, and handing it up to the horseman. The man read it carefully. “You find that all right, I expect?”
“Right enough to cause your immediate arrest.”
“But the general said we were not to be molested further. That is in his own handwriting.”
“I presume it is, and all the worse for you. His handwriting does not run quite as far as the queen’s writ in this country yet. I arrest you in the name of the queen. Cover these men with your revolvers, and shoot them down if they make any resistance.” So saying, the rider slipped from his horse, whipped out of his pocket a pair of handcuffs joined by a short, stout steel chain, and, leaving his horse standing, grasped Renmark’s wrist.
“I’m a Canadian,” said the professor, wrenching his wrist away. “You mustn’t put handcuffs on me.”
“You are in very bad company, then. I am a constable of this county; if you are what you say, you will not resist arrest.”
“I will go with you, but you mustn’t handcuff me.”
“Oh, mustn’t I?” And, with a quick movement indicative of long practice with resisting criminals, the constable deftly slipped on one of the clasps, which closed with a sharp click and stuck like a burr.
Renmark became deadly pale, and there was a dangerous glitter in his eyes. He drew back his clinched fist, in spite of the fact that the cocked revolver was edging closer and closer to him, and the constable held his struggling manacled hand with grim determination.
“Hold on!” cried Yates, preventing the professor from striking the representative of the law. “Don’t shoot,” he shouted to the man on horseback; “it is all a little mistake that will be quickly put right. You are three armed and mounted men, and we are only two, unarmed and on foot. There is no need of any revolver practice. Now, Renmark, you are more of a rebel at the present moment than O’Neill. He owes no allegiance, and you do. Have you no respect for the forms of law and order? You are an anarchist at heart, for all your professions. You would sing ‘God save the Queen!’ in the wrong place a while ago, so now be satisfied that you have got her, or, rather, that she has got you. Now, constable, do you want to hitch the other end of that arrangement on my wrist? or have you another pair for my own special use?