“Why, then,” exclaimed Sir Hector, and swung open the door, and leapt aside as a man blundered past him, a woeful figure, torn, mired and bloody, who gasped painfully and reeled in his stride.
Forthwith Sir Hector clapped to the door, and would have barred it, but Mr. Bunkle stayed him.
“No, no, sir!” he cried. “It looks more innocenter open an’, besides, Jarge only wants a minute ... watch ’im!”
Upon the wide hearth a fire smouldered, and into and over this fire Mr. Potter staggered; they heard the rattle of a chain within the chimney, a breathless, “Arl roight, Peter!” and Mr. Potter vanished amid sparks and smoke.
A moment later the first of his pursuers, lifting musket-butt to batter the stout door, found it ajar and entered, panting, to behold two gentlemen seated in amicable converse upon the wide settle, and Mr. Bunkle deferentially awaiting their orders; whereupon the panting soldier gasped and, gaping, was thrust aside by a panting officer, a ferocious gentleman, plump, peevish and blown, who, perceiving this picture of placid ease, immediately gaped also.
“Why ... why, what the devil!” he gasped, staring about the orderly tap-room in round-eyed amazement, while his breathless subordinates peered over his shoulders; and, finding no better expression to fit the occasion, he repeated it, louder than before, “What the devil!”
“Extraordinary!” exclaimed Sir John, viewing the breathless gentleman in mild wonder. “Mr. Bunkle, you may bring us some o’ your famous gumboo.”
“Well ... damme!” panted the officer.
“Aye, but why, sir?” inquired Sir John, whereat the officer grew a trifle redder in the face and, scowling upon Sir John, fell back upon his original remark:
“What the devil!”