The noise inside the room was hushed, and through the door came muffled tones of angry and excited remonstrance. "It’s very bad language, but I can’t understand it," said Smith, who now had his ear against the oak. "Here, Jack, you’re the only fellow who knows the lingo; leave that drain-pipe and see if you can make anything of it." Jack rose from his wriggling seat, and, going to the door, shouted "Who are you?" in Spanish. A moment later he turned to the company and said: "By George! it’s the regidor himself. We’d better let him in." "Not till I’ve licked you," said Pomeroy. "Let the old boy wait." "That’s Pommy all over," said Smith; "I’m Reginald Pomeroy, and hang civility! The regidor’s our host, and we owe him a little consideration." "Exactly," put in Jack. "Heave over, Giles, and let me open the door." He turned the key, threw the door open, and gave admittance to the oddest figure imaginable. "Pommy’s Bath bun—underbaked!" said Shirley under his breath. The rest of the company were too much surprised for speech or laughter. The intruder was presumably a man, but he was so completely covered with an envelope of paste that form and feature were undiscoverable. Two unmistakable arms, however, were wildly gesticulating; an equally obvious fist was being shaken towards the group; and a human voice was certainly pouring out a stream of violent language, of which no one there, not even Jack, could make out a word. "Come, Señor Regidor," said Jack in Spanish, "what is the matter? Really, you talk so fast that I cannot understand you." He laid his hand on the regidor’s arm, but drew it back hastily; it was covered with wet flour. "Shut the door, Giles," he said, wiping his hand; "this needs an explanation. In fact" (he gave a quizzical glance from the floor to the company) "it needs clearing up!" Taking the fuming regidor gingerly by the hand, he led him to the middle of the room, where, with Pomeroy’s assistance, he set to work to scrape away the clinging paste that swathed the poor man from head to foot. The first shock of surprise being over, the rest of the officers were now fairly bubbling with merriment, for the regidor was too angry to keep still, and never ceased from objurgating some person unknown. Dugdale had stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth to stifle his laughter, and Smith was thumping Shirley vigorously on the back. After some minutes’ scraping with the foils, the new-comer was revealed standing in a circle of clammy flour—a little, round, pompous individual, with a very red and wrathful face, made ludicrous by the stiff moustache, to which a coating of flour obstinately adhered. "Now, Señor Regidor," said Jack soothingly, "tell us all about it. I hope the mischief has gone no deeper than your clothes."