of themselves.

"What right have _you_ to demand an account of us?" asked Tom Brixton,
recklessly, in a supercilious tone that was meant to irritate.

"The right of might," replied Stalker, stepping up to Tom, and grasping
him by the throat.

Tom resisted, of course, but being seized at the same moment by two men
from behind, was rendered helpless. His comrades were captured at the
same moment, and the arms of all bound behind them.

"Now, gentlemen," said the robber chief, "perhaps you will answer with
more civility."

"You are wrong, for I won't answer at all," said Tom Brixton, "which I
take to be _less_ civility."

"Neither will I," said Fred, who had come to the conclusion that total
silence would be the easiest way of getting over the difficulties that
filled his mind in regard to deception.

Patrick Flinders, however, had no such difficulties. To the amazement
of his companions, he addressed a speech to Stalker in language so
broken with stuttering and stammering that the marauders around could
scarcely avoid laughing, though their chief seemed to be in no mood to
tolerate mirth. Tom and Fred did not at first understand, though it
soon dawned upon them that by this means he escaped being recognised by
the man with whom he had so recently conversed through the keyhole of
Tom Brixton's prison door.

"S-s-s-sor," said he, in a somewhat higher key than he was wont to
speak, "my c-c-comrades are c-c-cross-g-grained critters b-both of 'em,
th-th-though they're g-good enough in their way, for all that. A-a-ax
_me_ what ye w-w-want to know."

"Can't you speak without so many k-k-kays an' j-j-gees?" demanded
Stalker, impatiently.

"N-n-no, s-sor, I c-can't, an' the m-more you t-try to make me the
w-w-wus I g-gits."

"Well, then, come to the point, an' don't say more than's needful."

"Y-y-yis, sor."

"What's this man's name!" asked the chief, settling the bandages
uneasily on his head with one hand, and pointing to Brixton with the
other.

"M-Muster T-T-Tom, sor."

"That's his Christian name, I suppose?"

"W-w-well, I'm not sure about his bein' a c-c-c-Christian."

"Do you spell it T-o-m or T-h-o-m?"

"Th-that depinds on t-t-taste, sor."

"Bah! you're a fool!"

"Thank yer honour, and I'm also an I-I-Irish m-man as sure me name's
Flinders."

"There's one of your countrymen named Brixton," said the chief, with a
scowl, "who's a scoundrel of the first water, and I have a crow to pluck
with