A murmur of admiration arose, and as the sound leaped about my ears I moved casually and indifferently up against Paddy. It was a grand scene.
"Paddy," I whispered as soon as I had reached a place on the stairs safe from the ears of the people below. "Paddy, you have made a great blunder. You have the wrong man."
"'Tis unlikely," replied Paddy with scorn. "You wait until you see him, and if he is not little and black, then—"
"Yes, yes," said I hastily, "but it was not any little black man at all which I wanted. It was a particular little black man."
"But," said the ruffian brightly, "it would be possible this one will serve your end. He's little and he's black."
At this moment the voice of the captive came intoning through the door of a chamber.
"When I am free I will first cut out your liver and have it grilled, and feed it to you as you are dying."
Paddy had stepped forward and placed his lips within about six inches of one of the panels.
"Come now, be easy!" he said. "You know well that if you should do as you say, I would beat your head that it would have the looks of a pudding fallen from a high window, and that's the truth."
"Open the door, rascal," called the captive, "and we shall see."