“Here he is!” cried Ireton, as the knocking was heard without. “Get ready the irons, Caliban.”
“Wait a bit, massa,” replied the grinning negro,—“lilly bit—see all right fust.”
By this time, the chair had been brought into the Lodge.
“You've got him?” demanded Ireton.
“Safe inside,” replied the chairman, wiping the heat from his brow; “we've run all the way.”
“Where's Mr. Shotbolt?” asked Austin.
“The gen'l'man'll be here directly. He was detained. T' other gen'l'man said the letter 'ud explain all.”
“Detained!” echoed Marvel. “That's odd. But, let's see the prisoner.”
The chair was then opened.
“Shotbolt! by—” cried Austin, as the captive was dragged forth. “I've won, after all.”