“A pretty fellow you to talk!” she cried. “You who let the Master of Stair rob you under your nose—I knew him at sight for a spy—and so did you—you canting rogue!”
Jerome did not look at her, but, in the diversion she caused the whole company, glanced round the confusion for Lady Breadalbane; she had disappeared.
“Speak for yourself, Caryl,” said Berwick, through the hubbub. “I ain’t believing that you wouldn’t fall in with us.”
But ere Caryl could answer Porter, who had fought his way through the press, struck him full on the chest and Caryl staggering, the two men closed, struggled together, forcing each other toward the door; a yell rose from the room; Berwick gave a loud hysterical giggle; now Jerome Caryl had Porter by the collar, shaking him furiously; he flung him to the ground, instantly opened the door and darted through it.
There was a bolt on the outside and he slipped it; a confusion of noise rose from within; laughter seemingly at Porter’s discomfiture; he heard Celia Hunt screaming and Berwick’s falsetto rising higher and higher.
“Oh, la! ain’t it amusing! Oh, dear, oh, la!”
Waiting for no more Jerome Caryl turned swiftly down the stairs while behind him rose a drunken shout:
And across the Straits of Dover
Our gallant King came over,
Came triumphantly over to his own!