“Knocking upon the door!” I whispered, shuddering.
He closed and hid his terrible casket in the black flag, and thrust the bundle back into the box. He muttered to me, “For you! D’ye hear me? For my son’s son! Set the box back; keep ye the keys”—and thrust box and keys into my hands, and whispered, “Haste! Haste! Quiet as you go. They’re out there—mayhap all of ’em!”
Loud and insistent the knocking sounded, as I sped across the room to set the box back; close the panel, and draw the hangings into place once more.
Chapter XXXII. Will of a Man
My grandfather asking, “What hour is it?” stretched out his hand to a press beside him and drew forth a pistol, and set this by him on the arm of his chair.
“Midnight!” I answered, glancing at the clock.
“Bradbury should have returned,” he said. “Go to the door, lad, and ask who knocks.”
I hurried to the door, and to my question “Who’s there?” my Uncle Charles replied, “I, to be sure, nephew. Pray open the door!”
“Let him come in,” my grandfather said. “I bade him keep away. Yet let him in.”
I drew the bar and opened the door, and instantly was thrust aside. There entered, indeed, my uncle; there entered with him Blunt, Thrale, Mistress Barwise and her man and sons; and at their heels there came a surging crew, striving so one to precede the other that they blocked the doorway momentarily; cursing, struggling, contending, they came on,—all the old rogues of Rogues’ Haven, and with them seamen of Blunt’s crew. Fired with drink, disorderly they came, with clatter of shoes, roar of voices, sounding above the very wind; all so intent upon their purpose—all so covetous for plunder, that though they flung me back against the wall, they passed me by. I realised that Oliver was by me; that his hands gripped my arms, and pulled me back, when I would have struggled to reach my grandfather; he was growling thickly, “Get away! Now’s your chance! Get away! They’re mad with drink. God knows what they’ll do.”