“You must! You shall!” cried the other. “Don't ask me how. Don't sit wringing your hands, woman. If you are not there in five minutes to save him, I'll tell all.”
“Have mercy on me!” cried Lady Bassett. “I gave him money, I sent him away. It's not my fault.”
“No matter; he must be saved, or I'll ruin you. I can't stay here: I must be there, and so must you.”
She rushed down the stairs, and tried to get into the justice-room, but admission was refused her.
Then she gave a sort of wild snarl, and ran round to the small room adjoining the justice-room. Through this she penetrated, and entered the justice-room, but not in time to prevent the evidence from being laid before Sir Charles.
What took place in the meantime was briefly this: The prisoner, handcuffed now instead of tied, was introduced between the constable and his assistant; the door was locked, and Sir Charles received Mr. Bassett with a ceremonious bow, seated himself, and begged Mr. Bassett to be seated.
“Thank you,” said Mr. Bassett, but did not seat himself. He stood before the prisoner and gave his evidence; during which the prisoner's knees were seen to knock together with terror: he was a young man fit for folly, but not for felony.
Said Richard Bassett, “I have a cupboard containing family plate. It is valuable, and some years ago I passed a piece of catgut from the door through the ceiling to a bell at my bedside.
“Very late last night the bell sounded. I flung on my trousers, and went down with a pistol. I caught two burglars in the act of rifling the cupboard. I went to collar one; he struck me on the head with a crowbar—constable, show the crowbar—I staggered, but recovered myself, and fired at one of the burglars: he was just struggling through the window. He fell, and I thought he was dead, but he got away. I secured the other, and here he is—just as he was when I took him. Constable, search his pockets.”
The constable did so, and produced therefrom several pieces of silver plate stamped with the Bassett arms.