The door opened, and a couple of men came in; over their shoulders, ere the door closed again, Mr. Caryll had a glimpse of the landlady's rosy face, alarm in her glance. The newcomers were dirty rogues; tipstaves, recognizable at a glance. One of them wore a ragged bob-wig--the cast-off, no doubt, of some gentleman's gentleman, fished out of the sixpenny tub in Rosemary Lane; it was ill-fitting, and wisps of the fellow's own unkempt hair hung out in places. The other wore no wig at all; his yellow thatch fell in streaks from under his shabby hat, which he had the ill-manners to retain until Lord Ostermore knocked it from his head with a blow of his cane. Both were fierily bottle-nosed, and neither appeared to have shaved for a week or so. “Now,” quoth Mr. Green, “will you hand them over of your own accord, or must I have you searched?” And a wave of the hand towards the advancing myrmidons indicated the searchers. “You go too far, sir,” blustered the earl. “Ay, surely,” put in Mr. Caryll. “You are mad to think a gentleman is to submit to being searched by any knave that comes to him with a cock-and-bull tale about the Secretary of State.” Mr. Green leered again, and produced a paper. “There,” said he, “is my Lord Carteret's warrant, signed and sealed.” Mr. Caryll glanced over it with a disdainful eye. “It is in blank,” said he. “Just so,” agreed Mr. Green. “Carte blanche, as you say over the water. If you insist,” he offered obligingly, “I'll fill in your name before we proceed.” Mr. Caryll shrugged his shoulders. “It might be well,” said he, “if you are to search me at all.” Mr. Green advanced to the table. The writing implements provided for the wedding were still there. He took up a pen, scrawled a name across the blank, dusted it with sand, and presented it again to Mr. Caryll. The latter nodded. “I'll not trouble you to search me,” said he. “I would as soon not have these noblemen of yours for my valets.” He thrust his hands into the pockets of his fine coat, and brought forth several papers. These he proffered to Mr. Green, who took them between satisfaction and amazement. Ostermore stared, too stricken for words at this meek surrender; and well was it for Mr. Caryll that he was so stricken, for had he spoken he had assuredly betrayed himself. Hortensia, Mr. Caryll observed, watched his cowardly yielding with an eye of stern contempt. Rotherby looked on with a dark face that betrayed nothing. Meanwhile Mr. Green was running through the papers, and as fast as he ran through them he permitted himself certain comments that passed for humor with his followers. There could be no doubt that in his own social stratum Mr. Green must have been accounted something of a wag.