As the carriage drew up before a brilliantly lighted house the door opened, and a man-servant ran down the steps.
“Keep quiet,” whispered Hastings.
The man opened the door of the carriage, waited a moment, then put his head inside. He drew it back with a violent oath.
“It’s a damned insult!” he cried furiously.
“Why, Cochrane!” exclaimed Hastings, “what on earth is the matter with you?”
“Captain Hastings!” stammered the man. “Oh I—I—beg pardon. I thought—Oh, of course, I see. Tim had taken a drop too much. A most deplorable habit. Can I help you down, sir?”
“No, thanks.”
He sprang lightly to the sidewalk, followed with less agility by the Englishman, who still held the cocked pistol.
“I forgot about this thing,” said Thorpe. “Here—take it. I suppose we don’t enter the houses of peaceable citizens, even in California, carrying loaded firearms?”
Cochrane led the horses into the little park which prinked the centre of the enclosure, and the young men ascended the steps.