'I believe you've killed that constable in the exercise of his duty, Sir; the man's dead,' said Lowe, sternly.
'Another gloss on my text; why invade me like housebreakers?' said Dangerfield with a grim scoff.
'No violence, Sirrah, on your peril—the prisoner's wounded,' said Lowe, catching the other fellow by the collar and thrusting him back: he had gathered himself up giddily, and swore he'd have the scoundrel's life.
'Well, gentlemen, you have made a false arrest, and shot me while defending my person—you—four to one!—and caused the death of your accomplice; what more do you want?'
'You must accompany us to the county gaol, Sir; where I'll hand in your committal.'
'Dr. Toole, I presume, may dress my arm?'
'Certainly, Sir.'
'Good! what more?'
'There's a coach at the door, you'll please to step in, Sir.'
'Good, Sir, again; and now permit me to make a remark. I submit, Sir, to all this violence, and will go with you, under protest, and with a distinct warning to you, Mr. Lowe, and to your respectable body-guard of prize-fighters and ruffians—how many?—two, four, five, six, upon my honour, counting the gentleman upon the floor, and yourself, Sir—seven, pitted against one old fellow, ha, ha, ha!—a distinct warning, Sir, that I hold you accountable for this outrage, and all its consequences.'