My anger was getting the better of me now, for not only did they say what I have written down, but much more, which must have been sorely distasteful to Mistress Constance's ears.
Without any more ado, therefore, I drew my sword.
"The man who approaches a step nearer will have to swallow six inches of steel," I said.
Drunk as they were they started back. One, however, who did not seem quite as drunk as the others, eyed us closely.
"Now, then, Peter Blewitt," he said, "you boast that you are a brave man, and you carry a truncheon. At him! At him!"
But Peter Blewitt did not move.
"And you say you are never frightened!" sneered the other. "You say that you will take me to the lock-up. You! you haven't the courage of a bantam cock!"
This seemed to sting the drunken constable, for he made as though he would come towards me, and throwing off Mistress Constance's hand, I seized a pistol, and held it towards them.
"Unless you go your way I shoot," I cried.
"Now then, Peter Blewitt, surely you are not afraid of a boy's popgun? At him, man! at him!"