“Here is my uncle; he will answer you himself,” gasped Kitty, perplexed and alarmed at the string of questions, and then relieved to see Pasco arrive.
“What is the meaning of this?” shouted Pepperill, jumping out of a hired conveyance. He was in profound mourning, very new and glossy. “What is this you are doing, Pooke? Where is your authority?”
“I am constable.”
“A constable without a warrant! Off!’leave my ground at once! I’ll communicate with my solicitor, and have a summons taken out against you. My solicitor is not a man to understand jokes’nor am I.”
“You may be in the right for the moment,” said Pooke, becoming purple with vexation at being caught going beyond his powers, and with anger at being sent off, when he had come to the spot with such blare and blaze of authority. “But I’ll tell you what it is, Master Pepperill, there are queer tales abroad about you and this fire, and we want to know, where is Jason Quarm?”
“Quarm?’gone to Portsmouth.”
“To Portsmouth?”
“Of course; we are in treaty with the dockyard for our timber at Brimpts.”
“I don’t believe it! He is burnt!’here!”
“Burnt? Fudge! He said he was going to Portsmouth.”