By this time the utmost disorder prevailed. Mr. Wrench came forward and besought Joe Doughty to release the culprit.
“I’ll not let ’im go for you, nor no man!” cried Joe.
“We won’t see murder committed,” said several rustics. “Forward to the rescue!”
“Doughty, do as I bid you—let go your hold.”
His first paroxysm of passion now having in a measure subsided, Joe released his man, upon whom Mr. Wrench had already slipped a pair of handcuffs.
“I did not do it!” exclaimed the prisoner.
“Did not do what?” said Joe Doughty, thrusting his fist within an inch of the pallid, mottled face. “Lying won’t sarve you new; you’re nabbed, and the hangman’s rope is ready for you.”
“He says he did not murder Mr. Philip Jamblin,” cried Nell Fulford.
“You see he knows what he is charged with, although he’s never been in these parts afore this morning.”
The landlord of the “Lord Cornwallis” now entered the room. He was in a great state of flustration, and became seriously concerned as he beheld a terror-stricken man upon whom the eyes of all those present were intently fixed.