"I became privy to their designs by accident at the Wolcombe Inn, the scurvy rogues," said I, very pat and indignant, "and I have rode on to warn your master in the nick of time. Where may he be?"
"His lordship is abed, sir," he says.
"Oh, well," said I, "hale him forth."
"Nay, but I dare not," says he.
"Oh, very well," said I. "Then you shall have your throats cut, every man."
His jaw fell; then, "I have a blunderbuss," says he, brightening of a sudden.
"Blunderbuss!" says I, with a sneer. "Why, 'tis a veritable band of roaring satans, that lives on blunderbusses."
"Oh, Lord deliver us!" he cried, and wrung his hands. "What shall we do?"
Now, in point of fact, as you may see, 'twas in my power without more ado to play on my poor butler's fears, and so, skipping out of a back door, to leave Jeffreys and his crew to cool their heels on the terrace. But I was by this time infused with a certain zest of the adventure; I entertained it with a gusto; and so, drawing him gravely to a window near by that looked upon the front.