Mr. Mehta Ram promptly fell at the feet of Mr. Welwyn, and attempted, in true Old Testament fashion, to embrace that embarrassed scholar and gentleman by the knees.
"Keep him out!" he shrieked. "Great snakes, I implore you! Lock the door!"
In the absence of the snakes this office was performed by Percy and Dicky. Directly afterwards there was a rush of feet down the staircase, and a fusilade of blows began to rain upon the panels.
"Open the door!" commanded a voice, in a frenzied Paisley accent. "I'm wanting in! Tae break his neck," it added in explanation.
Dicky and Percy promptly put their backs against the door. Mrs. Welwyn crossed hastily to her husband's side.
"It's that Pumpherston," she announced in a low voice. "What are we to do?"
Mr. Welwyn addressed the suppliant at his feet.
"Come, Mr. Mehta Ram," he said, "don't be frightened. He can't get in. What is the trouble?"
Mr. Mehta Ram lifted his face from Mr. Welwyn's boots and addressed the company at large.
"Mr. Welwyn, Mrs. Welwyn, and general public," he began--the latter designation was apparently intended for the Mainwaring family, who, with the exception of Dicky, had ranged themselves into a compact group on the further side of the room--"I appeal to you as British subject--as a member of that great Empire upon which the sun never sits--"