“Mr Bagot—Mr Bagot! Where is he?”
“Bagot? Do you mean the spy who insulted me?” At the word “spy” there was an angry groan from the gathering crowd, and the men began to press forward.
“The fellow insulted me,” said Frank loudly, “and I locked him in one of the upstairs rooms.”
“Hooray!” came from the crowd. “Well done, youngster!” And then there was a menacing hooting. “Go and fetch him down,” continued Frank. “Yah! Spies!” came from the mob, and the men on the step gladly obeyed the order to go upstairs, and rushed into the house.
“Shall we fetch ’em out, sir,” cried a big, burly-looking fellow, “and take and pitch ’em in the river?”
“No; leave the miserable wretches alone,” said the boy haughtily. “Don’t touch them, if they go quietly away.”
“Hooray!” shouted the crowd; and then all waited till Bagot came hurriedly down, white with anger, followed by his men, and seized Frank by the shoulder.
“You’re my prisoner, sir.”
“Stand off!” cried the lad fiercely; and he wrenched himself free, just as the mob, headed by the burly man, dashed forward.
“You put a finger on him again, and we’ll hang the lot of you to the nearest lamps!” roared the man fiercely; and the party crowded together, while Frank seized the opportunity to close the door.