“It wouldn’t do a mite of good if I did,” replied Silas pityingly. “She won’t have you inside the house, and if I was to let you in she’d very likely murder me.”
“If you try to keep me from entering the house, it’s not Miss Grantham who will murder you!” said Ravenscar.
A joyful light sprang to Mr Wantage’s eyes. “If that’s the way it is, put up your dabblers, guv’nor!” he said simply.
Mr Ravenscar did more than this. Before Silas well knew what he was about, he had planted a flush hit to the face, followed it up by a lightning doubler which sent Silas staggering back, and was inside the house, with the door kicked to behind him.
Mr Wantage came boring in, trying to bustle his man, received a heavy facer, popped in over his guard, which drew his cork; threw in a body-blow; tried to job Mr Ravenscar in the face; was thrown on Ravenscar’s hip; and went crashing to the floor, where he remained, winded, and bleeding copiously at the nose.
“I owed you that!” said Ravenscar, panting a little.
From the head of the stairs an arctic voice said: “Have the goodness to leave this house immediately!”
Mr Ravenscar looked up quickly, saw Miss Grantham standing above him, with an expression of frozen fury on her face, and went up the stairs two at a time. Miss Grantham’s eyes dared him to touch her, but he gripped her wrist in one hand, saying: “I must and I will speak to you!”
“I have nothing whatsoever to say to you!” flashed Miss Grantham. “How dare you knock my servant down?”
“You may not have anything to say to me, but I have something which must be said to you!” replied Ravenscar. “If you won’t walk into that room, I shall pick you up and carry you into it!”