Mr. Caryll wheeled in his chair. “Surely they did not ask for him by name?” he inquired in the same low key employed by the valet.
The man nodded in silence. Mr. Caryll swore through his teeth. Sir Richard rose.
“I am occupied at present,” he said in a calm voice. “I can receive nobody. Desire to know their business. If it imports, bid them come again to-morrow.”
“It is over-urgent for that, Sir Richard Everard,” came the soft voice of Mr. Green, who thrust himself suddenly forward past the servant. Other figures were seen moving behind him in the ante-room.
“Sir,” cried Sir Richard angrily. “This is a most insolent intrusion. Bentley, show this fellow the door.”
Bentley set a hand on Mr. Green's shoulder. Mr. Green nimbly twisted out of it, and produced a paper. “I have here a warrant for your apprehension, Sir Richard, from my Lord Carteret, the secretary of state.”
Mr. Caryll advanced menacingly upon the tipstaff. Mr. Green stepped back, and fell into a defensive attitude, balancing a short but formidable-looking life-preserver.
“Keep your distance, sir, or 'twill be the worse for you,” he threatened. “Hi!” he called. “Jerry! Beattie!”
Jerry, Beattie, and two other ruffians crowded to the doorway, but advanced little beyond the threshold. Mr. Caryll turned to Sir Richard. But Mr. Green was the first to speak.
“Sir Richard,” said he, “you'll see that we are but instruments of the law. It grieves me profoundly to have you for our object. But ye'll see that 'tis no affair of ours, who have but to do the duty that we're ordered. Ye'll not give these poor fellows trouble, I trust. Ye'll surrender quietly.”