"Take care to hit them on the head," shouted the old commander-in-chief from his perch in the coach, while the mob laughed loud and long, as one after another member of the town council crawled out on all fours over the neighbouring roofs into safety, whilst first one and then another of the Szent-Endre worthies were thrown out like cats on to the ground below. The last to be turned out was the notary, his clothes torn, his temples bleeding, and his teeth knocked out, yet there was not a soul who seemed to sympathise with him. The mayor had bethought him of a refuge in the chimney, but they lighted straw below, and he was forced to push his way out. But the chimney being too narrow, he only succeeded in getting his head and arms out, and there he stuck, gesticulating wildly like a jack-in-the-box, till the siege being over, they could take off the chimney-pot and so free the prisoner. When the coast was clear they opened the doors and re-installed Mathias Ráby in his own house again. "Now, noble sir, what did you think of the operations?" asked the Knight of Kadarcs, as he cleaned out his pipe for a smoke. "A nice piece of work; it's a pity that sort of fighting has gone out of fashion!" But the worthy burghers had learned a twofold lesson. First, that when a plebeian fights it out with a noble, it is the plebeian who gets the worst of it; and secondly, that the people themselves, if they see their superiors thrashed, not only turn their backs on them, but regard it as a good joke. But after drinking to his health, the rescuers took leave of their host, now settled again in his own home. "We shall be at your service whenever you want us," was their parting salutation. CHAPTER XXIII. When Ráby was left alone he began to see that what had been done was really a foolish proceeding. To attack a peaceful town with armed force, beat thirty or forty of its citizens, to say nothing of its magistracy, black and blue--this was beyond a joke in any civilised city. Besides, those who had their heads broken in the fray, would not be silent about their grievances. For that matter, Böske had already seen several vehicles full of people with bandaged heads, proceeding in the direction of Buda. Mathias Ráby therefore determined to go himself to Pesth without waiting to be sent for, and then to testify to what had occurred. Of course he could not think of leaving Böske behind alone in the empty house, where there was nothing now left to take care of. The cows had long since been turned into butcher's meat for the benefit of the invaders, who had likewise drunk up every drop of wine in the cellar. And it was lucky Ráby took Böske with him, as we shall see later. Again he alighted at his old inn, and, donning his official dress, he caused himself to be taken in a sedan-chair to the palace of the governor.