“Silence!” cried Sir Francis. “You, Brownsmith, see that those two fellows come straight up to the library. I hold you answerable for their appearance.”
Sir Francis went on first and we followed, to find ourselves, about ten minutes later, in the big library, with Sir Francis seated behind a large table, and a lamp and some silver candlesticks on table and mantel-piece, trying to make the gloomy room light.
They did not succeed, but there was light enough to show Courtenay and Philip all the better for running up to their rooms and getting a wash and brush, while I was ragged, dirty and torn, bruised and bleeding, for I could not keep my nose from giving forth tokens of the fierce fight.
Courtenay was not perfect, though, for his mouth looked puffy and his eyes were swelling up in a curious way that seemed to promise to reduce them to a couple of slits.
I glanced at Mr Solomon, and saw that he was looking very anxious, and as our eyes met his lips moved, and he seemed to be saying to me: “How could you do such a disgraceful thing?” but I smiled at him and looked him full in the eyes without flinching, and he appeared to be more cheerful directly.
“Attention!” cried Sir Francis as if he were drilling his men; but there was no more fierceness. The officer and angry master had given place to the magistrate, and he cleared his throat and proceeded to try the case.
There was a little shuffling about, and Philip whispered to Courtenay.
“Silence!” cried Sir Francis. “Now, Courtenay, you are the elder: tell me what you were doing down the garden.”
“We were up by the big conservatory door, papa,” said Courtenay boldly—“Phil and I—and we were talking together about getting some bait for fishing, when all at once there came a whistle from down the garden, and directly after some one seemed to answer it; and then, sir—‘what’s that?’ said ‘Phil,’ and I knew directly.”
“How did you know?” cried Sir Francis.