“’Ow should I know?” sighed Mr. Bunkle. “An’ that theer jugged-’are nigh ready to be dished—’ow should any one know? Arl as I do know is as theer be strange ’appenings ’ereabouts, aye, that there be; country’s full o’ arl manner o’ unnat’ralness—visions, spekiters—Mus’ Sturton seen a phanitum only t’other night; didn’t ye, Mus’ Sturton?” “Who says so—lies!” cried Mr. Sturton fiercely. “And, Oxham, if ye hope to find Potter you’d best search now ’stead o’ wasting any more time.” “Aye, search be the word!” nodded Mr. Bunkle. “I can show ye arl manner o’ likely places to search in——” “I’ll find the curst rogue if we ha’ to pull the danged place about your ears——” “Why, very good!” answered Mr. Bunkle, rubbing his hands. “Only arl breakages must be paid for——” “Paid for?” roared Mr. Oxham, louder than ever. “Gimme any more o’ your imperence an’ I’ll pay ye wi’ my whip!” “I shouldn’t!” answered Mr. Bunkle. “No, I shouldn’t if I was you, Oxham.” For answer Mr. Oxham raised his whip, only to have it twitched out of his grasp from behind, and, wheeling about, came face to face with the imperturbable Robert. “You ... you ...” he panted. “Gimme that whip!” “With j’y!” answered the ex-Corporal, stepping back for space to strike. “I suggest the fire, Robert!” murmured Sir John from where he lolled upon the settle; and next moment Mr. Oxham’s whip was among the flames, and before its stupefied owner could find words, Sir John continued: “And now, Mr. Oxham, you may depart and do your expected bellowing elsewhere. I find you altogether offensive!... D’ye hear me, fellow—go!” Mr. Oxham’s large face grew inflamed and seemed to swell larger, and he glared from the indolent figure on the settle to his five uneasy stalwarts; but hard by, the corporal and Mr. Bunkle stood poised for action offensive; in the doorway, Mr. Pym leaned upon his prawning-net, and behind him loomed Messrs. Pursglove and Muddle, while divers faces scowled in at the open lattice. Observing all of which, Mr. Sturton spoke: “We’d best be going, Oxham. We’ll see no more o’ Potter to-night, I reckon, leastways—not hereabouts. We’d best be going——” “Go?” roared Oxham. “Not yet, damme!” And, speaking, drew a pistol from his pocket, but, in that moment, down came Mr. Pym’s unerring prawning-net, completely enveloping his head, and thus securely netted he was deftly disarmed by Mr. Bunkle, who, levelling the weapon at the gloomy five, commanded them to begone; which order they promptly obeyed, followed by Sturton and lastly by Mr. Oxham, hustled ignominiously into the street, his head still enveloped in the net, to be greeted by the laughter of all Alfriston, as it seemed. “We have raised the devil, I fear,” said Mr. Pym, as the hooting and laughter died away. “We shall have Lord Sayle down on us for this, which is bad, and I have lost a very good net—which is worse!”