“I’ve heard stories,” said Mr. Dick, “of the way you Irish landlords treated your tenants in the past. I know now that I didn’t hear half the truth. Anything more abominable, more outrageous, more utterly illegal----” He reached the door of the house as he spoke, and stepped with a sigh of relief on to the smooth step. “Look here,” he said, “where’s Sanders? Have you murdered Sanders?” He went forward again, passed through the door, and stood in the hall. There, in front of him, bound hand and foot, guarded by the long-bearded anarchist, lay Mr. Sanders. CHAPTER XIV Mr. Red treated Dr. O’Grady and Patsy Devlin very well. They could not have fared better if they had been political prisoners awaiting a trial for inciting people to boycott each other. They had abundance of excellent food, three meals a day, brought up to them by one of the foreign anarchists. They had a sufficiency of whisky and tobacco. A second bed was supplied when the doctor objected to sleeping with Patsy Devlin. Twice every day Dr. O’Grady was taken downstairs and allowed to attend the injured man, who was recovering rapidly. Every evening Mr. Red, adhering honourably to his bargain, handed over five sovereigns to the doctor. A large number of books was supplied to the prisoners. They were chiefly treatises on the theory and practice of anarchism, accounts of the revolution in Russia, and kindred matters. Dr. O’Grady was perfectly content with them. The subject was new to him, and he read with excited curiosity. It was a favourite boast of his that no book of any kind bored him, provided he understood the language in which it was written. Unfortunately, Patsy Devlin did not like reading. He worked slowly through the accounts of the murders of a few Grand Dukes, and displayed some slight interest in the tortures inflicted on a female anarchist. Then he became bored and refused to read any more. He used to walk about the room whistling loudly. There were only two tunes which he cared to whistle--“The wearing of the Green” and “God save Ireland.” The constant repetition of them began to irritate Dr. O’Grady at the end of the second day of Patsy’s captivity. He expostulated, and Patsy agreed to stop whistling. He was a man of kindly heart and had a real affection for the doctor. “I wouldn’t,” he said, “be doing what might annoy you; and if so be that the tunes is disagreeable, there won’t be another note of them heard from this out.” He meant what he said, but he promised more than he was able to perform. It soon appeared that he could not help whistling. He did not, in fact, know when he was whistling. The tunes came bubbling from his pursed lips against his will.