“Good-evening,” said the former, as they came abreast of Mr. Carter.
“Good-evening,” he replied.
“That's him,” said both together.
They stood regarding him in a fashion unmistakably hostile. Mr. Carter, with an uneasy smile, awaited developments.
“What have you got to say for yourself?” demanded the elder man, at last. “Do you call yourself a man?”
“I don't call myself anything,” said the puzzled Mr. Carter. “Perhaps you're mistaking me for somebody else.”
“Didn't I tell you,” said the younger man, turning to the other—“didn't I tell you he'd say that?”
“He can say what he likes,” said the other, “but we've got him now. If he gets away from me he'll be cleverer than what he thinks he is.”
“What are we to do with him now we've got him?” inquired his son.
The elder man clenched a huge fist and eyed Mr. Carter savagely. “If I was just considering myself,” he said, “I should hammer him till I was tired and then chuck him into the sea.”