"Oh, he would, would he? Then he must be about the most remarkable fool of a father I ever came across. Don't you try to stuff your lies down my throat, my joker, because I'm a liar myself, and know the smell. You listen to me. You'd better; because if you don't listen to every word, and stick it inside your head, it'll be a case of shooting, though I'm hung for you five minutes after. Do you hear?" "Ye--yes, sir." "My name's Captain Loftus. Do you hear that?" "Ye--yes, sir." "And I'm your uncle--your Uncle Tom. Do you hear that? I'm your Uncle Tom." "Ye--yes, sir." "Don't say 'sir,' say 'Uncle Tom.'" "Ye--yes, Un--Uncle Tom." "And don't you stutter and stammer; there's no stuttering and stammering about this." "This" was the revolver which "Uncle Tom" pointed in his playful way at his nephew. "And you've been a bad boy, and you've run away from your poor mother, and I'm going to take you back again. You understand?" "Ye--yes, sir--I mean, Uncle Tom." "Mind you do mean 'Uncle Tom,' and don't let us have any fooling about it. Do you hear? Don't let's have any fooling about it." "No--o, Uncle Tom." How devoutly he hoped that what his "uncle" said was true, and that he was going to be taken back to his mother. But the hope was shattered by the words which followed. "Now just you listen to me. I've got half a dozen more words to say, and they're the pick of the lot. I'm going to take you with me. You'll be all right so long as you keep your mouth shut; but if you speak a word without permission from me, or if you hint anyhow at the pleasant little conversation we've had here, I'll shoot you on the spot. You see, I'm going to put my revolver into the inside pocket of my coat; it will be always there, and always ready for you, and mind you don't forget it." Bertie was not likely to forget it. He watched the captain placing the weapon in a convenient inner pocket of his overcoat with an interest too deep for words. Mr. Rosenheim added an agreeable little remark of his own. "You understand, my friend? You are to dismiss from your mind any little ideas you may have had about the Countess of Ferndale's jewels, or your uncle, Captain Tom Loftus, will practise a little revolver shooting upon you, eh, my friend?" And Mr. Rosenheim covered the lad with his own revolver. There was such an absolutely diabolical grin upon the gentleman's face that Bertie felt as though his blood had congealed in his veins. The revolver might go off at any moment, and this time it would be a case of hitting. Bertie was persuaded that one more of Mr. Rosenheim's little practice shots would be quite enough for him. The change from Mr. Rosenheim to Captain Loftus was actually a relief. "Are you ready?" "Ye--yes, sir!" "_Sir?_" The "sir" was shouted in a voice of thunder, and the captain's hand moved towards the inner pocket of his coat. "Un--Uncle Tom, I mean."