“In Tim’s name!” exclaimed I. “It’s false! I swear he never signed it; he is not even in the country.”
“Don’t be too sure of that. Anyway he’s their chosen leader, and they do all in his name. I daren’t go outside my own doors after dark for fear of a bullet.”
“The scoundrels!” cried I, starting up; “and they dare drag Tim’s name into their vile machinations. I tell you, Mr Gorman, Tim would no more wink at murder than—than Miss Kit would. And, by the way, sir, what of Miss Kit?”
He looked round with his haggard face.
“What is that to you, Gallagher?”
“I love her,” said I bluntly, “and so I have a right to know.”
“You! the son of Mike the boatman, and brother of Tim the rebel! You dare—”
I cut him short.
“See here, Maurice Gorman; understand me. With or without you I will find her, if I have to seek her to the world’s end. I’ve done so before now; remember how we parted last.”
“Oh,” said he, “I know all that, and of your meeting her in Holland and placing her in Biddy McQuilkin’s care. She wrote me all about that; and it’s little I owe you for it. Biddy belongs, body and soul, to the rebel faction.”