“The house is surrounded,” says the squire, very quick and quiet; “is this your doing, Cole?”
“I wish it was,” said I; “but I can’t complain; it’s saved my life.” And I looked at Santos, standing dignified and alert, my still smoking pistol in his hand.
“Two things to do,” says Rattray - “I don’t care which.” He strode across the cellar and pulled at the one full bin; something slid out, it was a binful of empty bottles, and this time they were allowed to crash upon the floor; the squire stood
“You’ll not be very well sir?”
No, I’m not.”
“What’s t’ matter wi’ you?”
This second question was rude and fierce with suspicion: the real woman rang out in it, yet its effect on me was astonishng: once again was I inspired to turn my slip into a move.
“Matter?” I cried. “Can’t you see what’s the