of the
Frenchman's confederate,--and one by one signifying their
acquiescence,--the Irishman stood apart, apparently busied in some
profound mental calculation.

When at length all seemed to have consented to a second casting of lots,
he roused himself from his reverie; and, stepping hastily into their
midst, cried out in a determined manner, "No--

"No, yez don't," continued he, "no more drawin', my jewels, till we've
had a betther undherstandin' ov this little matther. That there's been
chatin' yez are all agreed; only yez can't identify the chate. Maybe I
can say somethin' to point out the dirty spalpeen as hasn't the courage
nor the dacency to take his chance along wid the rest ov us."

This unexpected interpolation at once drew the eyes of all parties upon
the speaker; for all were alike interested in the revelation which
O'Gorman was threatening to make.

Whoever had played foul,--if it could only be proved against him,--would
be regarded as the man who ought to have drawn the red button; and would
be treated as if he had done so. This was tacitly understood; even
before the suggestion of such a course had passed the lips of anyone.
Those who were innocent were of course desirous of discovering the
"black sheep,"--in order to escape the danger of a second drawing,--and,
as these comprehended almost the entire crew, it was natural that an
attentive ear should be given to the statement which the Irishman
proposed to lay before them.

All stood gazing upon him with expectant eyes. In those of Le Gros and
his confederate there was a different expression. The look of the
Frenchman was more especially remarkable. His jaws had fallen; his lips
were white and bloodless; his eyes glared fiend-like out of their sunken
sockets; while the whole cast of his features was that of a man
threatened with some fearful and infamous fate, which he feels himself
unable to avert.

CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE.

LE GROS UPON TRIAL.

As O'Gorman gave utterance to the last words of his preparatory speech,
he fixed his eyes steadfastly upon the Frenchman. His look confirmed
every one in the belief that the allusion had been to the latter.

Le Gros at first quailed before the Irishman's glance; but, perceiving
the necessity of putting a bold front on the matter, he made an
endeavour to reciprocate it.

"_Sacre bleu_!" he exclaimed. "_Monsieur Irlandais_ why do you look at
me? you don't mean to insinuate that I've acted unfair