Captain of Villainy
a crash. In an instant he had stepped within, closed and locked the door behind him.
"'Tis a fine morning, Captain von Wever," he remarked briskly. "The top of it to ye, sir."
The surprise was a complete success. The German stood stolidly staring at O'Rourke, to all appearances absolutely benumbed with astonishment. His small, round eyes were open to their fullest extent, giving his heavy-jowled face, with its bristling mustache, an expression of childish stupidity.
He stood in his pajamas, his toes thrust into loose, heelless slippers. Through the folds of the night garments his heavily builded figure shaped impressively—well set up and soldierly. In one hand he held a candle, whose flame flickered and smoked in the draft.
For a moment he maintained this attitude of bewilderment; and then rage began to gather at the back of his eyes. His thick lips settled into a cruel line, as he placed the candle on a convenient little table and stepped forward.
"What does this mean, sir?" he shouted furiously. "By what right—"
"Softly, softly," O'Rourke deprecated. "Don't ye attempt to strike me, sir, or, be the Eternal, I'll knock ye to the end of the passage! Besides," he added, seeing that the fellow was unawed by his threat, "I've a gun in me pocket. Is it that ye're wanting me to stick it under the pink nose of ye?"
Von Wever restrained himself. He eyed the Irishman as though now, for the first time, he was recognizing him.
"O'Rourke," he said slowly, "are you going to this insolent intrusion explain?"
"All in me own good time," the Irishman airily assured him. "'Tis the bit of a confabulation I'd be having with
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