dooty to report as in the 'George
and Dragon' last evening Sir Oliver Rington were talking agin' you,
sir--very fierce."

"I'm not surprised, Zeb, his kind must talk."

"Same person, sir, made oncommon free wi' your name, laying thereto
certain and divers eppythets, sir, among which was 'vulgar fellow' and
'beggarly upstart' which me overhearing was forced to shout 'damn liar'
as in dooty bound, sir. Whereupon his two grooms, wi' five or six
other rogues, took me front, flank and rear and run me out into the
road. Whereupon, chancing to have pint-pot in my hand, contrived with
same to alter the faces o' two or three of 'em for time being, as in
dooty bound, sir. All of which has caused more talk which I do truly
lament."

"A pint-pot is an awkward weapon, Zebedee!"

"True, sir, same being apt to bend."

"I trust you did no serious hurt, Sergeant?"

"Not so serious as I could ha' wished, sir."

"And I hope it won't occur again."

"I hope so too, sir! Regarding the prisoner, sir----"

"He has escaped, I understand, Zeb."

"He has so, your honour."

"Then there is no prisoner."

"Why as to that, sir," began the Sergeant, scratching his big chin--

"As to that, Zeb, 'tis just as well for everyone concerned, especially
the prisoner, that--er--isn't, as 'twere and so forth, d'ye see,
Sergeant?" So saying the Major took up his pen and the Sergeant strode
away, though more than once he shook his head in dark perplexity.

CHAPTER VIII

OF PANCRAS, VISCOUNT MERIVALE

The Major's study, opening out of the library, was a smallish chamber,
very like himself in that its appointments were simple and plain to
austerity. Its furniture comprised a desk, a couple of chairs and a
settee, its adornments consisted of the portrait of a gentleman in
armour who scowled, a Sevres vase full of roses set there by Mrs.
Agatha, a pair of silver-mounted small-swords above the carved mantel
but within easy reach, flanked by a couple of brace of handsomely
mounted pistols.

Just now, table, chairs and settee had been pushed into a corner and
the chamber rang with the clash and grind of vicious-darting steel
where the Major and Sergeant Zebedee in stockinged-feet and
shirt-sleeves, thrust and parried and lunged, bright eyes wide and
watchful, lips grim-set, supple of wrist and apparently tireless of
arm, the Major all lissom, graceful ease despite his limp, the Sergeant
a trifle stiff but grimly business-like and dead