“No,” whispered Lanty, as he skulked behind the shoulder of the speaker; “that's another gentleman.”
“Were you alone in this apartment?” said the same man who spoke first, as he addressed Mark in the tone of authority.
“It is rather for me to ask what business you have to come here?” replied Mark, as he continued to feed the flames with the letters and papers before him.
“You shall see my warrant when you have answered my question. Meanwhile these may be of some consequence,” said the other, as, approaching the hearth, he stooped down to seize the burning papers.
“They do not concern you,” said Mark, as he placed his foot in the very middle of the blaze.
“Stand back, sir,” cried the constable, half raising his arm to enforce the command.
“Lay but a finger on me,” said Mark, scornfully, “and I'll dash your head against the wall.”
The insolence of this threat might have been followed by ill consequences, had not Lanty sprung hastily forward, and, catching the constable by the arm, cried out—