“Take it easy, young gentlemen, and you shall be treated as such,” said old Tom Bowen, a grave, gray-haired, most respectable old man, an elder in the church and county constable for many years.
“‘Take it easy!’ Take what easy? If it were not for your age and piety, I should think you were drunk or crazy, Mr. Bowen! What is the meaning of all this, anyhow?” demanded Leonidas.
“Oh, don’t you see it’s all a funny mistake, Force? They have waked up the wrong passengers. They are after some other parties. The thieves that stole Tom Grandiere’s young horse, I reckon. But, great Neptune! do we look like horse thieves? Say! Who are you wanting, anyhow, you blooming boys?” demanded Roland, in all sincerity.
The two constables sat down, and “Old Bowen,” as he was always called, deliberately drew from his capacious pocket a formidable-looking document, which he unfolded, saying:
“I hold here a warrant issued by Abel Force, Esq., of Mondreer, justice of the peace for the county, commanding me to arrest and bring before him the body of Leonidas Force, of Greenbushes, to answer the charge of a breach of the peace by sending a challenge to fight a duel to one Col. Anglesea, at present a resident of this county. You can take my warrant in your own hands and read it with your own eyes, if you wish to do so, young gentleman,” said the mild, old officer, handing the verbose document to which he so briefly referred to the midshipman.
Le took it mechanically, and stared at it without reading a line. He was simply amazed at the event, and wondering with all his might how the carefully guarded secret of his sending the challenge to the colonel at the Calvert Hotel could have become known to Squire Force, at Mondreer.
Meanwhile, the old constable was not idle. He drew from that deep receptacle, his riding-coat pocket, a second document, which he unfolded and handed to Roland Bayard, saying:
“There, sir, is a warrant for your arrest upon very much the same sort of charge—a breach of the peace in taking a challenge from Mr. Leonidas Force to Col. Angus Anglesea. You also can read it, if you wish.”
“But I never delivered the challenge,” said Roland, laughing at what seemed to him to be a solemn farce. “I never got a chance to deliver it. It is in my pocket at this moment. But I reckon it better not stay there, to rise up in judgment against us,” he added, sotto voce, as he arose, went to the fire, drew the white paper torpedo from his vest pocket and dropped it into the flames, where it was instantly burned to ashes.
The constables did not attempt to prevent this destruction. Probably they did not even notice the act. Indeed, the second officer, a dull-looking young man, with a red head and freckled face, did not seem to take any part in the business of the hour.