"Well, I'm sure I don't," panted Ellerey.

"Is he secure?" said another voice.

"Yes," at least half a dozen voices answered. "Then drag him in. Perhaps
we'll have leave to despatch him presently."

A door was opened, and, with scant ceremony, Ellerey was dragged by
his feet across the floor into a room. The door was shut again, and
someone produced a lantern.

Ellerey found himself lying in a bare room with seven or eight men
standing in a circle round him, regarding him with sullen and angry
looks, yet with curiosity and some respect; and on more than one face
there were marks of the struggle, savage flushes that would blacken
to-morrow, and blood on lips. He looked from one to the other, but saw
no face he recognized, yet they were not such a murderous set of
scoundrels as he had expected to see, and although more than one of
them, perhaps, would have taken the keenest pleasure in burying a
knife-blade in him to revenge the hurt he had received, it appeared
evident that some consideration held them back. Whatever they
contemplated doing, murder was not their intention.

"It takes a lot to knock the sense out of you," said one man, and
Ellerey thought he recognized the voice which had ordered him to be
dragged into the room: "and there are one or two of us who have
something to settle. That must wait for a more convenient season."

"If I am to make a fight for it, it certainly must," said Ellerey,
with a smile. "I suppose it's no use asking you to loosen my wrist a