There was a moment's silence, but no cry came from behind the door, one panel of which was shattered.
"You see," sneered Muchmore. "I guess you'll wish you hadn't begun this work, my friend, before I'm through with you. You'll be in jail ere you are many hours older. As for you," went on the man, turning to Bert, "I warned you, once before, not to trespass on my property. I shall also make a complaint against you. Now, clear out, both of you!"
"Suppose I refuse to go?" asked Mort coolly.
"Then I'll throw you out. I paid you your wages to the end of the week. You can consider yourself dismissed. If you don't go—"
Muchmore paused, but there was such a fierce look on his face, as he strode toward Bert and the stenographer, that, though neither of them was a coward, they judged it best not to provoke the man too much.
"Oh, we'll go," replied the stenographer. "But I warn you that you haven't heard the last of this. This place will be searched, by the proper authorities, and that prisoner, whoever he is, will be released."
"There is no prisoner there," retorted Muchmore. "And I'd like to see the authorities here, or from anywhere else, search this house without my permission. A man's house is his castle, here as much as in England. Now you have my answer, and you can do your worst!"
"I'll inform Mr. Stockton," threatened Bert.
"Do, you young rascal, when you can find him," and, with a laugh,
Muchmore motioned his two unwelcome visitors to leave.
"Well, we didn't find out much," remarked the stenographer, as he and Bert were descending the hill toward the village. "I'm afraid I made rather a mess of it. He came back unexpectedly."