How she had
contrived to pin him in such a helpless manner, I could not imagine. The
motive was obvious. A little girl lay writhing and sobbing on the floor
amid the fragments of a broken mug and a scattering of copper and silver
coins.
"You've got him safe enough, mother," said I, "and it's no good cooking
him since you can't eat him."
"Be yow another stinking robber, like this'n?" she demanded. The epithet
was as apt as it was vigorous, for the stink of singeing cloth made me
sniff. "If y'be," she went on, "I'll shove' im in the fire and set about
yow."
"Not a bit of it, mother. I've come to help you, but shift him along a
bit out of the heat, and then we'll settle what to do with him." To him I
added, "Understand, sergeant, any attempt to fight or fly, and your neck
will be wrung like a cockerel's." Then laying down my gun I pulled out the
tines and shifted him along the lintel till he was out of danger. The
woman, whose fierce determination never faltered, jammed the pikel in
again and kept him trapped.
I went to the door and saw Mistress Waynflete standing by Sultan's head,
and the proud beauty arching his neck in his joy at finding his mistress
near him.
Pages:
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174