And rushing to the cupboard she grabbed a box of the condiment, then ran into the parlour.
With no intention of setting the accretion of soot in the flue to burning, the detectives were, however, far from sorry as they heard the roar of the flames in the chimney and, their faces wreathed in broad smiles, they laughed and talked together.
"That'll drive 'em out, I reckon," chuckled Dillaby just at the moment the farmer's wife entered the room.
"You won't feel so funny, you grinning monkeys, if this house burns down!" she snapped.
If it does, you'll pay for it—and well, too.
"Helen, run down to the square and ask lawyer Perkins to come up here just as fast as he can. I'll see if there isn't some way to prevent these men from outraging us any more.
"Jeff Prior, you keep 'em covered in that corner with your shot gun and don't let 'em leave this room. Ephraim, you help me throw this salt into the chimney."
Neighbours had thronged into the room during the speech and while some of them assisted in putting the salt onto the fire, that its fumes might be drawn upward and stifle the blazing soot, others ranged themselves about the man-hunters, freely expressing their opinions of the men who had invaded the sacred privacy of the Prior home.
And never was there a more disgruntled looking set of detectives.
Aware that they had carried matters with a high hand, they had, nevertheless, trusted to the inherent awe of one of their kind, present in every breast, to still any violent opposition to their actions, even to the burning out of the chimney.