“Gentlemen,” he said, in a perfectly calm voice, “my father served in Ireland in Fenian times, and an American-Irishman caught him in a trap, gagged him with gun-rags, and generally made a fool of him. Such things do not happen twice in any intelligent family. You will therefore walk through this door, arm in arm, handing me the lantern as you pass, and you will then go up the stairs six paces ahead of me. If either of you attempts to do anything else, I will shoot him down like a dog.” CHAPTER XXVII--THE RETURN OF THE O’MAHONY. Bernard had never before had occasion to look into the small and ominously black muzzle of a loaded revolver. An involuntary twitching seized upon his muscles as he did so now, but his presence of mind did not desert him. “No! Don’t shoot!” he called out. The words shook as he uttered them, and seemed to his nervously acute hearing to be crowded parts of a single sound. “That’s rank foolishness!” he added, hurriedly. “There’s no trick! Nobody dreams of touching you. I give you my word I’m more astonished than you are!” The major seemed to be somewhat impressed by the candor of the young man’s tone. He did not lower the weapon, but he shifted his finger away from the trigger. “That may or may not be the case,” he said with a studious affectation of calm in his voice. “At all events, you will at once do as I said.” “But see here,” urged Bernard, “there’s an explanation to everything. I’ll swear that old O’Daly was put in here by our friend here--Jerry Higgins. That’s straight, isn’t it, Jerry?” “It is, sir!” said Jerry, fervently, with eye askance on the revolver. “And it’s evident enough that he couldn’t have got out by himself.” “That he never did, sir.” “Well, then--let’s figure. How many people know of this place?” “There’s yoursilf,” responded Jerry, meditatively, “an’ mesilf an’ Linsky--me cousin, Joseph Higgins, I mane. That’s all, if ye l’ave O’Daly out. An’ that’s what bothers me wits, who the divil _did_ l’ave him out?” “This cousin of yours, as you call him,” put in the resident magistrate--“what did he mean by speaking of him as Linsky? No lying, now.” “Lying, is it, your honor? ’T is aisy to see you’re a stranger in these parts, to spake that word to me. Egor, ’t is me truth-tellin ’s kept me the poor man I am. I remember, now, sir, wance on a time whin I was only a shlip of a lad--” “What did you call him Linsky for?” Major Snaffle demanded, peremptorily. “Well, sir,” answered Jerry, unabashed, “’t is because he’s freckles on him. ‘Linsky’ is the Irish for a ‘freckled man!’ Sure, O’Daly would tell you the same--if yer honor could find him.” The major did not look entirely convinced. “I don’t doubt it,” he said, with grim sarcasm; “every man, woman and child of you all would tell the same. Come now--we’ll get up out of this. Link your arms together, and give me the lantern.”