“Hold your whist,” said Shawn fiercely to them. “He can’t answer the lot of you, can he?” and he turned again to the Leprecaun and shook him until his teeth chattered. “If you don’t tell me where the money is at once I’ll kill you, I will so.” “I haven’t got any money at all, sir,” said the Leprecaun. “None of your lies,” roared Shawn. “Tell the truth now or it’ll be worse for you.” “I haven’t got any money,” said the Leprecaun, “for Meehawl MacMurrachu of the Hill stole our crock a while back, and he buried it under a thorn bush. I can bring you to the place if you don’t believe me.” “Very good,” said Shawn. “Come on with me now, and I’ll clout you if you as much as wriggle; do you mind me?” “What would I wriggle for?” said the Leprecaun: “sure I like being with you.” Hereupon the sergeant roared at the top of his voice. “Attention,” said he, and the men leaped to position like automata. “What is it you are going to do with your prisoner, Shawn?” said he sarcastically. “Don’t you think we’ve had enough tramping of these roads for one night, now? Bring up that Leprecaun to the barracks or it’ll be the worse for you—do you hear me talking to you?” “But the gold, sergeant,” said Shawn sulkily. “If there’s any gold it’ll be treasure trove, and belong to the Crown. What kind of a constable are you at all, Shawn? Mind what you are about now, my man, and no back answers. Step along there. Bring that murderer up at once, whichever of you has him.” There came a gasp from the darkness. “Oh, Oh, Oh!” said a voice of horror. “What’s wrong with you?” said the sergeant: “are you hurted?” “The prisoner!” he gasped, “he, he’s got away!” “Got away?” and the sergeant’s voice was a blare of fury. “While we were looking at the Leprecaun,” said the voice of woe, “I must have forgotten about the other one—I, I haven’t got him—” “You gawm!” gritted the sergeant. “Is it my prisoner that’s gone?” said Shawn in a deep voice. He leaped forward with a curse and smote his negligent comrade so terrible a blow in the face, that the man went flying backwards, and the thud of his head on the road could have been heard anywhere. “Get up,” said Shawn, “get up till I give you another one.” “That will do,” said the sergeant, “we’ll go home. We’re the laughing-stock of the world. I’ll pay you out for this some time, every damn man of ye. Bring that Leprecaun along with you, and quick march.” “Oh!” said Shawn in a strangled tone. “What is it now?” said the sergeant testily. “Nothing,” replied Shawn. “What did you say ‘Oh!’ for then, you block-head?” “It’s the Leprecaun, sergeant,” said Shawn in a whisper—“he’s got away—when I was hitting the man there I forgot all about the Leprecaun: he must have run into the hedge. Oh, sergeant, dear, don’t say anything to me now—!” “Quick march,” said the sergeant, and the four men moved on through the darkness in a silence, which was only skin deep. CHAPTER XV