with Macann.
But what fairly knocked the fight out of him was to see, five minutes
later, old Parson Polsue totter up the steps towards him with a jaw stuck
out like a mule's, and Grandison behind, and all their contingent.
Though made up of Tories to a man, the crowd couldn't help hissing; but it
affected the old Parson not a doit.

"Macann and Saule," said he, speaking up sharp and loud: and at the names
the hissing became a cheer fit to lift the roofs off their eaves.

Newte fairly forgot himself. "Ha--haven't you seen Major Dyngwall this
morning?" he managed to ask.

And with that the crowd below parted, and John a Hall came roaring through
it like a bull.

"Where's the Major? Major Dyngwall! Who's seen Major Dyngwall?"

"Ay, we're all asking that?" called out some person, sarcastic-like: and
all began to laugh and to boo. But John a Hall caught at the rail and
swung himself up the steps.

"You thundering fools!" he bellowed. "Is it foul play that tickles you?
One of our candidates you've contrived to poison, and I've left him at
Tregoose between life and death. What have you done with the other?"
By this time he had the mob fairly hushed and gaping. "What have you done
with the other?" he shouted, banging his fist down on the Returning
Officer's table. "Let Parson Polsue speak first, for to my knowledge the
Major was bound for his lodgings when last seen."

"I haven't set eyes on him," said Parson Polsue.

"I saw him!" piped up a woman in the crowd. "I saw him about six this
morning. He was walking along the foreshore towards Mr. Grandison's."

At this everyone turned to the Curate; but he shook his head.
"Major Dyngwall has not called on me this morning. Indeed, I have not
seen him."

"Then run you and search--half a dozen of you!" commanded John a Hall.
"I'll get to the bottom of this, I warn you. And as for you, Dr. Macann,
and you, Mr. Saule--if you haven't learnt the difference between honest
fighting and poisoning--kidnapping--murder, maybe--"

But he got no further. "That's enough of big words," said a voice, very
quiet, but so that all had to listen: and behold, there was Kitty Lebow
mounting the steps, as cool as cream in a dairy.

She landed on the platform and took a glance about her, and the folk read
in her eye that she had come to enjoy herself. "Reckon I have a right
here so well as the best of you, since you put me on the Rate List," says
she, with a dry sort of twinkle.