Exchanging looks of satisfaction, they descended the last flight of stairs;—and, by the hall lamp, they perceived the porter comfortably ensconced in a truckle-bed that was made up for him in a convenient corner. The light fell on his rubicund countenance, which was surmounted by a cotton nightcap: but the brawny arm that lay outside the coverlid, and the tracing of his form as shaped by the bed-clothes, showed full well that he was a man of herculean stature and proportionate strength.
Nothing daunted—but resolving upon a desperate effort to accomplish the purpose he had in view—Lord William Trevelyan led the way into the hall; and he had just ascertained the fact that there was a bunch of large keys peeping forth from beneath the sleeping porter’s pillow, when the door of the supper-room suddenly opened, and Mr. Sheepshanks staggered forth.
The reverend gentleman carried a candle in his hand; and, by his flushed countenance, vacant stare, and unsteady walk, he was evidently in a pretty advanced state of intoxication. In fact—and there is no necessity to disguise the matter—the pious minister had sate up to enjoy himself alone; and he had carried his libations to such an extent that he was now, at two o’clock in the morning, most awfully drunk.
The moment Lord William caught sight of the inebriate minister, he sprang upon him—placed his hand tightly over his mouth—and, thrusting him back into the supper-room, said in a low but hasty and threatening tone, “Move hence at your peril!”
He then closed and locked the door.
But in the short and decided scuffle an untoward accident had occurred.
The candlestick had dropped from Mr. Sheepshanks’ hand on the marble floor of the hall; and the consequence was that the porter sprang up, and was out of bed in a trice.
Sir Gilbert Heathcote rushed upon him: but not in time to prevent the man from springing a huge rattle and crying, “Help! help!”
Lord William Trevelyan hesitated not a moment how to act. He darted to the truckle-bed—seized the keys from beneath the pillow—and sprang to the door, leaving Sir Gilbert Heathcote wrestling desperately with the porter.
The reader will remember that there were two doors; and the young nobleman had only just time to open the first or inner one, when a rapid glance cast behind showed him his friend Sir Gilbert upon the floor, completely overpowered by the huge porter, who had placed his knee upon the baronet’s chest.