"Tie him! We needn't gag him. Tie him tight! We've got him!"
There were no less than four men, and two held his legs, while the other two pinioned his arms, all the while threatening him with terrible things if he resisted.
It was in vain to struggle, and every time he tried to speak they silenced him. Besides, he was too much astonished to talk easily, and all the while an unceasing torrent of abuse was poured upon him, over the gate, by the voice that had given the alarm.
"We've got him, Mrs. McNamara! He can't get away this time. The young villain!"
"They were goin' to brek into me house, indade," said Mrs. McNamara. "The murdherin' vagabones!"
"What'll we do with him now, boys?" asked one of his captors. "I don't know where to take him—do you, Deacon Abrams?"
"What's your name, you young thief?" sternly demanded another.
Jack had begun to think. One of his first thoughts was that a gang of desperate robbers had seized him. The next idea was, that he never met four more stupid-looking men in Mertonville, nor anywhere else. He resolved that he would not tell his name, to have it printed in the Inquirer, and so made no answer.
"That's the way of thim," said Mrs. McNamara. "He's game, and he won't pache. The joodge'll have to mak him spake. Ye'd betther lock him up, and kape him till day."
"That's it, Deacon Abrams."