The door swung open again, and Ramshaw, hanging on to the handle, swung in with it.
“Hooray, Clapperton! Rollitt’s no thief. That money’s turned up. Ain’t you glad? I am—good evening.”
This final greeting was cut short by a ruler which Clapperton sent flying at the messenger’s head. Ramshaw dodged in time, and the ruler flew out into the passage, where it was promptly captured by Fisher minor, whose turn came next.
“Thank goodness that’s the end of the young cads!” growled Clapperton. “They’ve done it on purpose; and I’ll pay them out for it. That ass, Fisher major, he’s bound to—”
Here there came a modest tap at the door, and Fisher minor peeped in, apologetically.
“Well, what do you want? You’ve no business on this side; go to your own house.”
“All right, Clapperton,” said Fisher, speaking with unwonted rapidity. “I only thought you’d like to know my brother’s found the money. Hurray! Rollitt’s no thief; ain’t you glad?—Yeow!”
This last exclamation was in response to a grab from the enraged Clapperton, which, though it failed to catch the messenger, clawed his face.
“I’ve had enough of this,” said the senior. “I don’t care—. Hullo! where’s my key?”
The key was not to be seen. He looked out into the passage; it was not there. No one else was in sight.