"No, that'll never do," cried Ginger. "Ve're all in the same boat, and must row out together the best vay ve can. I tell you wot it is, wenerable," he added, seizing him by the throat—"your master may be the devil, but you're mortal; and if you don't help me to deliver my companions, I'll squeege your windpipe for you."
"That's not the way to induce me to help you," said Old Parr, twisting himself like an eel out of the other's gripe. "Now get out, if you can."
"Don't be angry," cried Ginger, seeing the mistake he had committed, and trying to conciliate him; "I only meant to frighten you a bit. Can you tell me if Mr. Auriol Darcy is here?"
"Yes, he is, and a close prisoner," replied Old Parr.
"And the girl—Miss Ebber, wot of her?"
"I can't say," rejoined Old Parr. "I can only speak to the living."
"Then she's dead!" cried Ginger, with a look of horror.
"That's a secret," replied the dwarf mysteriously; "and I'm bound by a terrible oath not to disclose it."
"I'll have it out of you notvithstandin'," muttered Ginger. "I vish you would lend me a knock on the head, old feller. I can't help thinkin' I've got a terrible fit o' the nightmare."
"Let this waken you, then," said Old Parr, giving him a sound buffet on the ear.