The village constable, who had been listening, with his eyes starting and ears seeming to project forward, here broke in, speaking in a husky, oily voice.
“Big cellar, sergeant, all underneath the house, and iron gratings to let in the light.”
“What do you know about it?” cried Waller sharply. “Have you been prying and peering in?”
“I am a-doin’ of my duty, Master Waller Froy,” said the man, swelling up like a turkey-cock, which bird he seemed greatly to resemble as, having found his voice, he began to show his importance, but with no other effect than to make the soldiers grin, while one of them, who had walked out past the sentry and picked up the cocked hat with the muzzle of his musket, now presented it to him.
“Don’t—don’t do that!” cried the constable, starting back as if it were something alive. “You should never point a gun at anyone when you speak!”
“Didn’t speak,” said the soldier, grinning more widely.
“There, take your hat, constable,” cried the sergeant, giving Waller a comical cock of his eye. “Brown Bess never barks unless we touch the trigger. Yes, sir, I have looked through the dining-room. Beautiful old-fashioned room, too. Excuse me for saying so. No secret passages there, I suppose?”
“No,” said Waller; “not one. Come and look here, then, next. I’ll take you wherever you want to go. This is the drawing-room,” and he threw open the door of the handsome low-ceilinged, old panelled chamber, with most of the furniture dating back so that it was nearly as old as the house.
As he led the way into the room Waller winced, for Anthony Gusset was putting on his cocked hat again; but as he caught the boy’s furious look he snatched it off.
“Look here, sergeant,” said Waller quietly; “I’ll take you all over the house and answer any questions you like to put, or won’t answer them, just as I please, but you can do your duty without that fat, stupid, village bumpkin?”