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"Some tamn'd villains among the roe-deer," said Duncan; "look sharp out, lads." The clash of swords was next heard, and Duncan and his myrmidons, hastening to the spot, found Butler and Sir George Staunton's servant in the hands of four ruffians. Sir George himself lay stretched on the ground, with his drawn sword in his hand.
Lance's long and fatiguing watch beside the death-bed of the unfortunate armourer of course delayed to some extent Captain Staunton's reply to the suggestion which Dickinson had made on behalf of himself and certain of his comrades.
Staunton's friend, was referred to me by Scotland Yard." "Who are you, sir?" "I am Cyril Overton." "Then it is you who sent me a telegram. My name is Lord Mount-James. I came round as quickly as the Bayswater bus would bring me. So you have instructed a detective?" "Yes, sir." "And are you prepared to meet the cost?"
But Sir George had had quite enough of their conversation; and Butler, at his request, made an apology to Mrs. Saddletree, and accompanied him to his lodgings. Here they found another guest waiting Sir George Staunton's return. This was no other than our reader's old acquaintance, Ratcliffe.
"We shall have real comforts at home now," she said. "I am, as my boy says, a wonderful manager." "The best in all the world," interrupted George; "there never was such a mother." Mrs. Staunton's eyes quite shone with pleasure. "What I was thinking was this, Effie," she continued, "that if you really are not strong enough to go on with your work, we can now afford to keep you at home."
'That is an instance of Mrs. Staunton's way of expressing herself, said Lady Merton; 'now I will give you one of her acuteness of feeling, as she calls it. Your Aunt Katherine was her greatest friend when she was a girl, though I believe the kind epithets she lavished upon me would have been enough to stock two or three moderate friendships.
Sherlock Holmes was a past-master in the art of putting a humble witness at his ease, and very soon, in the privacy of Godfrey Staunton's abandoned room, he had extracted all that the porter had to tell. The visitor of the night before was not a gentleman, neither was he a workingman.
They had exchanged a few sentences, of which the porter had only distinguished the one word "time." Then they had hurried off in the manner described. It was just half-past ten by the hall clock. "Let me see," said Holmes, seating himself on Staunton's bed. "You are the day porter, are you not?" "Yes, sir, I go off duty at eleven." "The night porter saw nothing, I suppose?"
But Sir George had had quite enough of their conversation; and Butler, at his request, made an apology to Mrs. Saddletree, and accompanied him to his lodgings. Here they found another guest waiting Sir George Staunton's return. This was no other than our reader's old acquaintance, Ratcliffe.
Staunton's friend, was referred to me by Scotland Yard." "Who are you, sir?" "I am Cyril Overton." "Then it is you who sent me a telegram. My name is Lord Mount-James. I came round as quickly as the Bayswater 'bus would bring me. So you have instructed a detective?" "Yes, sir." "And are you prepared to meet the cost?"
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