Neighbours had thronged into the room during the speech and while some of them assisted in putting the salt onto the fire, that its fumes might be drawn upward and stifle the blazing soot, others ranged themselves about the man-hunters, freely expressing their opinions of the men who had invaded the sacred privacy of the Prior home. And never was there a more disgruntled looking set of detectives. Aware that they had carried matters with a high hand, they had, nevertheless, trusted to the inherent awe of one of their kind, present in every breast, to still any violent opposition to their actions, even to the burning out of the chimney. But when they heard Mrs. Prior's command to her daughter to summon the family legal adviser, they realized that they had overshot their mark and their one thought was to get out of the house before the counsellor should arrive. But when Higgins started to move he was brought up short. "Stay whar you be!" growled Jeff. "You ain't any on you goin' to leave this house till lawyer Perkins says you can." Protesting against such treatment the man-hunters were, however, obliged to submit to it, their decision accelerated by the townfolk who rallied to the young farmer's support. For even in those days, detectives were looked down upon and despised. With the aid of the salt, the fire was soon under control and the men and women impatiently awaited the arrival of the member of the legal profession, filling in the time by suggesting all the dire things they would do to the detectives if they were the Priors. Expostulation and diplomacy on the part of the man-hunters who had deserted their posts outside, when they were told of the predicament of their fellows, were alike unavailing and to such vigorous tongue-lashings were they subjected by the irate townspeople that they were glad enough to return to their guard duties at Higgins' command. At last Squire Perkins arrived, the fact being announced by those in the yard, followed as soon as possible by his appearance in the parlour. A tall man, with white hair and beard, his piercing eyes made still more formidable by the bushy brows from beneath which they flashed, his frock coat hanging loosely from his shoulders, a pair of eye-glasses tucked between the top buttons of his waistcoat, an ebony cane with a gold, monogrammed head in his hand, Mr. Perkins presented the appearance of a typical member of the profession of olden times. Taking a cursory glance at the room and its occupants, though there was probably nothing about any of them that escaped his eagle eyes, Mr. Perkins turned to the flushed housewife. "What's the trouble, Mrs. Prior?" he asked in a deep, powerful voice. With a torrent of words, the woman poured out her tale of outraged dignity. Several times, Higgins, Jones and Dillaby sought to interrupt but a peremptory "wait until you're spoken to," accompanied by a savage scowl, from the barrister was sufficient to silence them and they subsided.