'I hope you're proud of your precious protégés?' he said, and at the same moment a voice outside cried,—
'Let's smash the cursed walls in!'
Old Clayton's voice sounded thin and shrill above the uproar.
'Don't be fools, lads! Come away! Let un alone! Come home! We'll do no good here.'
The men seemed to hesitate a minute, and then to obey, reluctantly moving towards the gate.
'They have gone without doing anything very serious, you see,' said the Count; but even as he spoke a big stone, thrown by some strong hand, came crashing through the window, and rolled, muddy and grey, on to the edge of the soft fur hearthrug.
'Damn!' cried Roland furiously, 'I'll have the fellow who did that, anyway.'
He made a dash for the door, but Litvinoff caught him by the shoulders, and there was a struggle, silent and brief, which ended in Roland's standing still, and looking at the other savagely.
'Stay where you are, for God's sake!' shouted the Count; 'they've only done you five shillings' worth of damage now, but they'll perhaps add murder to it if you go outside. Do be reasonable, Ferrier. There, they've gone now; and if you went out you couldn't identify the man who did it.'
Roland turned away, and flung himself sulkily into a chair by the fire.