“Follet was the name of your companion, hey?” Fred asked.

Jackson hesitated for a moment, and then continued,—­

“I may as well own that it was, ’cos I’m with friends who won’t betray me.  Follet said that he would visit the store, and by cross-examining the Yankees, find out what they meant to do, and whether the old man had made any revelations.  He did so, and while there managed to drop a knife, which I had bought from them a week or two before, and which I took care to blood up, and then went before the commissioner, and boldly accused them of murdering his uncle.

“The dodge succeeded badly; the d——­d fool of a commissioner let the store keepers off on bail, and shoved Follet in jail, to be held as a witness.  But he’s a good and true one, and has not once alluded to me.”

“Is that all?” asked the inspector.

“That’s all,” replied Jackson, emptying his glass.

“Well, now, let me see your hands,” Mr. Brown said.

Jackson held out his hands, which Mr. Brown grasped firmly, and then I heard two sharp “clicks,” and to my surprise, and the consternation of our companion, a pair of stout handcuffs were on his wrists, and he was a prisoner.

CHAPTER LVII.

MORE OF THE SAME SORT.

The securing of Jackson was so sudden and unexpected that no one in the room besides our party had noticed what was going on, and even the prisoner seemed not to realize for some moments that his tongue had revealed secrets which were likely to cost him imprisonment for life.  He appeared to imagine that the handcuffing was an excellent joke, and a taint smile overspread his face; but after finding that no one returned it, a deadly paleness chased the color from his lips, and he trembled as though he was already arraigned before a tribunal for sentence.

“What is the meaning of this?” he stammered out, after moistening his mouth, which seemed parched, with his tongue.

“It means,” whispered the inspector, “that you are my prisoner, and the first effort that you make to escape will result in your death.  Remain quiet, and do as I wish you to, and you will fare well, but—­”

He pressed the barrel of a revolver against his side, and the fellow trembled at its touch.

“Who are you?” Jackson demanded, almost in an inaudible voice.

“I am that d——­d Brown whom you spoke of a few minutes since,” replied the inspector, with a chuckle.

“And these two men?” he asked, pointing to Fred and myself.

“The Americans, whom you thought to get convicted of murder.  You see that they have played you a Yankee trick, and have rather got the best of the bargain.”

The poor wretch’s head fell upon his breast, and we supposed that he was completely crushed by his unexpected arrest, but we kept a sharp eye upon his movements, nevertheless, for fear that he should convey intelligence of his situation to the noisy and drunken gang in the room.  We knew that the single word “Traps” would cause them to swarm around us like hornets, and that many blows would have to be struck before we could make our way to the street and escape with our prisoner, whom we were desirous of holding on to at every hazard.