"I don't think you would. If you were me you would stand your ground, and that's what I mean doing," smiled Paul.
"You're jolly cheeky, Gargoyle! Now, look here, take the advice of one who wants to do you a good turn—cut! There are a lot of the Bedes hanging about, and if they happen to get hold of you, there won't be much left of you, I can tell you! Are you insured?"
"No."
"My stars! I wouldn't like to be standing in your shoes—I really wouldn't! Tired of life—eh? That's why you're poking your head into the lion's den—eh?"
"Wrong again—quite wrong. I've come to see one of your fellows who's been very kind to me—Wyndham."
"Oh, Wyndham! The one you ran away from at the sand-pits?"
Paul winced under the jibe. He had not yet got over that weakness. Murrell was regarding him curiously. No answer coming from his victim, he spoke again:
"You want me to fetch Wyndham?"
"If you would be so kind."
"Well, if you don't take the cake—likewise the bun, and the biscuit! A Gargoyle has the superb cheek to ask a Bede to be his errand-boy! Stands Scotland where it did? Is the world going round, or is it standing still? Am I standing on my head or my heels? Now, then—your last chance! If you don't want to go back in pieces, take it! Going—going—gone!"