"What, what? You mean the old fellow took Geoffrey off to leave the young fellow a clear field with Ally Lambourne? Odso, that's devilish deep, ain't it? But we can set the young fellow packing, my lad. We—"
"Sir John!" my lady's voice rose higher yet.
"Coming, ma'am, coming. Od burn my heart and soul!" That last invocation was not directed at her but an invading tumult.
The butler entered backwards, protesting, between two men who did not take off their hats. They were in riding-boots and cloaks, and splashed from the road. They had pistol butts ostentatious in their side pockets, and one carried some papers in his hand.
"Stand back, my bully, stand back, or you'll smell Newgate," says he to the butler.
"Burn your impudence," Sir John roared, and strode forward.
"In the Queen's name. Messengers of the Secretary of State, with his warrant." The man waved his papers under Sir John's nose. "Master of the house, are you?"
"I am Sir John Burford of Finchley, and be hanged to you."
"There is the mistress of the house, sirrah," says Mr. Hadley
"Thank'e. In the Queen's name, ma'am. Warrants to take Oliver Boyce,
Colonel, and Geoffrey Waverton, Esquire."