"See you," said I, pointing out the escort where they lay in waiting, "there's a monstrous set of rascals for ye, all a-hungering for blood, they are, all a-spitting on their hands to flirt their hangers, with which to slit the throats of poor civil citizens like me and you."
"Lord save us!" he said, with his teeth going. And just at that moment a thin voice sounded from somewhere above, and a tall lean old gentleman, wrapped in a night-rail and looking choleric of face, peered over the stairway at us.
"What the devil are you at, Jenkins?" he says peevishly.
"Oh, my lord," cried Jenkins (if that was the fool's name), "'tis a gentleman that has come to warn us—and there is a pack of highwaymen without, and our throats shall all be cut! Heaven help us!"
"Silence, sirrah! I will have none of this noise," cries the old gentleman, in a peppery voice. "You have disturbed my rest!" he says angrily.
"But, my lord," cried poor Jenkins, "the highwaymen—"
"Well, well," says he, shrilly, "send 'em away. You must get rid of 'em," and he looked testily at the butler.
But by this time with the noise of our talking the whole house was awake, and there came the sound of doors opening, and forth from dark passages broke lights, and faces peeped over balustrades.
"My lord," said I, for 'twas time for me to think of old Jeffreys outside, "'tis true there's highwaymen without, but I can think of a way to trap 'em."