the other man; 'it's coiners' work, that's
what it is, but there's nobody there. The keys must have _blown_ down!'

The two voices talked some time, but we could not hear all their
conversation. We were all wondering, as it turned out afterwards, what
exactly the utmost rigour of the law was. Because, of course, we knew we
were trespassers of the very deepest dye, even if we could prove that we
were not real coiners.

'No,' we heard one of them say, 'if we go for the police very likely the
gang will return and destroy everything. There's no one here now. Let's
secure the evidence. We can easily break the door down.'

It is a sickening feeling when the evidence against you is going to be
secured, and you don't know what the punishment for coining is, or
whether anyone will believe you if you say you were only playing at it.

We exchanged pallid glances.

We could hear the two men shaking the door, and we had no means of
knowing just how weak it was, never having seriously tampered with it
ourselves.

It was then that Noel suddenly went quite mad. I think it was due to
something old nurse had read to us at breakfast that day about a boy of
eight who played on the fiddle, and composed pieces of music. Affected
young ass!

He darted from us into the middle of the room, where the two intruders
could see him, and said:

'Don't break down the door! The villains may return any moment and
destroy you. Fetch the police!'

The surprised outsiders could find no word but 'Er?'

'You are surprised to see me here,' said Noel, not taking any notice of
the furious looks of the rest of us. 'I am an infant prodigy. I play the
violin at concerts; I play it beautifully. They take me to London to
play in a closed carriage, so that I can't tell anyone my woes on the
way.'

'My poor child!' said one of the outsiders; 'tell us all about it. We
must rescue you.'

'Born of poor but honest parents,' said Noel--and this was what nurse
had read out to us--'my musical talent early manifested itself on a toy
violin, the gift of a devoted great-aunt. Torn from my home----I say, do
fetch the police. If the monsters who live on my violin-playing return
and find you here, they will brain you with the tools of their trade,
and I shall be lost.'

'Their trade?' said one of them. 'What trade?'

'They are coiners,' said Noel, 'as well as what they do to me to make me
play.'

'But if we leave you?'

'Oh, they won't hurt _me_,' cried Noel