"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! take note that if any of you observate such a person as I have just descriptioned, you are to apprise me of this instantaneously, so that I may take him by force and violence even into the presence of his Honour. "Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!" The gaffers were putting their heads together, whilst the young ones whispered eagerly,— "Brown coat! ... embroidered waistcoat! ... a gold-headed whip!..." Nay, ’twas often enough that Master Inch had to cry out the description of some wretched vagabond in hiding in the village, but it was not usual that such an one was attired in the clothes of a gentleman. It even struck Sir Humphrey as very strange, and he pushed through the group of yokels to hear more clearly Master Inch’s renewed description of the rogue. "Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!" At first the interest in Master Inch’s pompous words was so keen that Sir Humphrey remained practically unnoticed. One or two villagers, noting that a gentleman was amongst them, respectfully made way for him, then one youngster, struck by a sudden idea, stared at him and whispered to his neighbour,— "He’s got a brown coat on..." "Aye!" whispered the other in reply, "and an embroiderated waistcoat too." Some of them began crowding around Sir Humphrey, so that he raised his whip and muttered angrily,— "What the devil are ye all staring at?" It was at this very moment that Master Inch suddenly caught sight of him, just in the very middle of a stentorian,— "Oyez!" He gave one tremendous gasp, the bell dropped out of his hand, his jaw fell, his round, beady eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "’Tis him!" murmured the yokel, who stood close to his ear. This remark brought back Master Inch to his senses and to the importance of his position. He raised his large hand above his head and brought it down with a tremendous clap on Sir Humphrey Challoner’s shoulder. "Aye! ’tis him!" he shouted lustily, "and be gy! he’s got guilt writ all over his face, and ’tis a mighty ugly surface!" Sir Humphrey, taken completely by surprise, was positively purple with rage. "Death and hell!" he cried, clutching his riding-whip significantly. "What’s the meaning of this?" But already the younger men, full of excitement and eagerness, had closed round him, impeding his movements, whilst two more lusty fellows incontinently seized him by the collar. They felt neither respect nor sympathy for a vagabond attired in gentleman’s clothes. Sir Humphrey tried to shake himself free, whilst the beadle majestically replied,— "You’ll have it explanated to you, friend, before his Honour!" The excitement and lust of capture was growing apace. "Got him!" shouted most of the men. "Showin’ his ugly face in broad daylight!" commented the women. "Hold him tight, beadle," was the universal admonition. "You rascal! you dare!..." gasped Sir Humphrey, struggling violently, and shaking a menacing fist in the beadle’s face. "Silence!" commanded Master Inch, with supreme dignity.