Mr Merriot laughed. “It’s a beauty in distress, John, and Kate must be up and doing.”
A grunt only was vouchsafed, and the glimmering of a grim smile. John went out. Arose presently in the courtyard a shout, and a glow, and quickly uproar.
“Now I wonder how he made that fire?” said Miss Merriot, amused.
“There’s a shed and some straw. Enough for John. Well, it’s a fine stir.” Mr Merriot went to the window. “Mine host leads the household out in force. The wood’s so damp ’twill be out in a moment. Do your part, sister.”
Mr Merriot vanished into the deserted taproom.
Miss Merriot added then to the stir by a scream, close followed by another, and a cry of — “Fire, fire! Help, oh help!”
The door across the passage was burst open, and a dark gentleman strode out. “What in hell’s name — ?” he began. His face was handsome in the swarthy style, but flushed now with wine. His eye lighted on Miss Merriot, and a smell of burning assailed his nostrils. “What’s the noise? Gad, is the place on fire?” He came quickly into the coffee-room, and received Miss Merriot in his unwilling arms. Miss Merriot neatly tripped up her chair, and with a moan of “Save me!” collapsed onto Mr Markham’s chest.
He grasped the limp form perforce, and found it a dead weight on his arm. His companion, a slim child of no more than eighteen, ran to the window. “Oh, ’tis only an old shed caught fire away to the right!” she said.
Mr Markham strove to restore the fainting Miss Merriot. “Compose yourself, madam! For God’s sake, no vapours! There’s no danger. Damnation, Letty, pick the chair up!”
Miss Letty came away from the window towards Miss Merriot’s fallen chair. Mr Markham was tightly clasping that unconscious lady, wrath at his own helpless predicament adding to the already rich colour in his face.