While the lieutenant was speaking, he gave the prostrate Irishman a kick with his heavy boot, as an illustration of his argument perhaps, and the blow was sufficient to restore the fellow to his senses.
"Holy St. Patrick, it's murdering me, ye are," he exclaimed.
"No, but we intend to, unless you inform us who hired you to set fire to our store," rejoined Fred.
The fellow maintained a profound silence, and Murden was about to repeat his blow when Fred checked him.
"No more kicks," he said; "they have been punished sufficiently already, and we must now try what effect kindness will have on them."
"I'll try the effect of a stout halter," cried the angry officer; but Fred was resolute, and refused to allow them to be punished.
Our prisoners listened to the words that passed between the lieutenant and Fred, and I could see by the bright starlight that astonishment was plainly visible upon their faces. It was evident that they expected different treatment.
"Let us take them into the store, and there we can examine them at leisure," Fred said; and as the idea met our approval, we helped them to stand upon their feet, and then escorted them into the building, where we lighted our candles, and after wiping some of the congealed blood from their faces, we examined their countenances to see if we had ever met them before in Ballarat.
"Where have we seen you before?" Fred asked, addressing the Irishman.
The man hung his head and refused to reply; and he even appeared to act as though ashamed of his conduct.