"Aye! you would lie anywhere," commented his Honour, "gagged and bound or not."
"From your observation, Sir Humphrey, I gather that you somewhat ... er ... doubt my story!" murmured Master Mittachip in a quavering voice.
"Doubt it, man? ... doubt it?" laughed his Honour, holding his sides, "nay! how can I doubt it? I saw it all..."
"You, Sir Humphrey?"
"I was there, man, on the Heath. I saw it all ... your vigorous defence, your noble valour, your ... your..."
Master Mittachip's sallow face had assumed a parchment-like hue. He passed his dry tongue over his parched lips, great drops of moisture appeared beneath his wig. That his fears were not unfounded was presently proved by Sir Humphrey's sudden change of manner.
The hilarious laugh died down in his Honour's throat, an ugly frown gathered above his deep-set eyes, and with a violent curse he brought his heavy fist down crashing upon the table.
"And now, you lying, lumbering poltroon, where's my money?"
"B ... b ... but, Sir Humphrey..." stammered the attorney, now pallid with terror.
"There's no 'but' about it. You collected some rents for me, thirty guineas in all, that money must lie to my account in the bank at Wirksworth to-morrow, or by G—— I'll have you clapped in jail like the thief that you are."