Mrs. Tipping, seizing the knocker, knocked loud and long, and after a short interval repeated the performance. Somebody was heard stirring upstairs, and a deep voice cried out that it was coming, and peremptorily requested them to cease knocking.
“That’s not Flower’s voice,” said Fraser.
“Not loud enough,” said Miss Tipping.
The bolts were drawn back loudly and the chain grated; then the door was flung open, and a big, red-whiskered man, blinking behind a candle, gruffly enquired what they meant by it.
“Come inside,” said Mrs. Tipping to her following.
“Ain’t you come to the wrong house?” demanded the red-whiskered man, borne slowly back by numbers.
“I don’t think so,” said Mrs. Tipping, suavely; “I want to see Captain Flower.”
“Well, you’ve come to the wrong house,” said the red-whiskered man, shortly, “there’s no such name here.”
“Think,” said Mrs. Tipping.
The red-whiskered man waved the candle to and fro until the passage was flecked with tallow.