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At sight of his uniform Beacraft's small eyes seemed to dart fire. "What were you doing when we knocked?" I inquired. "Cooking," he replied, tersely. "Then cook breakfast for us all and Miss Brant," I said. "Mount, help Mr. Beacraft with the corn-bread and boil those eggs. Sir George, I want Murphy to stay outside, so if you would spread the cloth "
The door opened and a lean, dark-faced man appeared, dressed in his smalls and shirt. He favored us with a sour look, which deepened to a scowl when he recognized Mount, who saluted him cheerfully. "Hello, Beacraft, old cock! How's the mad world usin' you these palmy, balmy days?" "Pretty well," said Beacraft, sullenly. "That's right, that's right," cried Mount.
"That is unfortunate," I observed. "I will give you one more chance to answer my question. What person or persons are on the floor above?" "Captain Butler was there; he departed yesterday with his mother and sister," replied Beacraft, maliciously. "Is that all?" "Miss Brant is there," he muttered. I glanced at Sir George, who had risen to pace the floor, throwing back his military cloak.
And I motioned Murphy into the house and sat down on an old plough to wait. Through the open door I could see the two big riflemen plying spoon and knife, while Beacraft picked furtively at his johnny-cake, eyes travelling restlessly from Mount to Murphy, from Sir George to the wooden stairway.
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