“Exactly as I thought,” says I. “And suppose a man was put into it; could he very well get out?”
“Depends upon the man, your ladyship,” says the elder, leering like a fox.
“One who did not happen to be a friend of the family,” says I, mightily enjoying William Goodman’s face.
“He might o’ course,” says he, with his natural caution, “and, o’ course, he mightn’t; but, my lady, if I was betting on it, I should put my money on he mightn’t.”
“Well, Goodman,” says I, “I should like you to understand that I have put my money on ‘he mightn’t.’ Now there is a certain person to be put into that coal-hole, and out he must not come until I send the order. And let me give you a few particulars.”
These were brief and simple. Mr. Flickers must be lured into the gate-house, sprung upon, taken by surprise, laid in the cellar, and kept there both tight and privy at my pleasure; while I should be pleased if it could be contrived that a blue paper passed from his possession to my own.
“And no unnecessary violence, Goodman. I would not have unnecessary violence for the world. But do you think all this is to be done?”
“Your ladyship can call it done already,” Goodman answered. “And what was it, my lady, you thought he called his lordship?”
“Doddering old something, I believe,” says I; “cannot take a Bible oath on the exact text of it, but ‘doddering old something’ is the very synonym of what he said.”
“When the pore man falls, I hope as ’ow he won’t fall on his head,” says William, piously, but with a high significance.