The two men exchanged a glance.
“Well,” said Mr. Tuke, “you can show your head above, and e’en draw the cork after your own fashion.”
The cumbrous creature scrambled to his feet, puffing and sweltering; and so manipulated the bottle with shaking hands.
“And whither are your guests flown?” said one of the gentlemen.
“Meanin’ Mr. Fern and his off-scourings, sir? To Botany Bay, whence they came, is my desperate hope. As cozening scoundrels, your noble honours, as ever practised on a decent innkeeper.”
“You were no party to their roguery, then?”
“Party!” (the man was fussing and feinting with his corkscrew). “Mr. Tuke, sir, I was terrified of my life while the reskels remained. The shadow of ’em lay like as a blight on my custom.”
“And you have the assurance to tell me that they coerced you?”
“So help me, sir, they did.”
“With what object?”