That brought to a pitch the horror without the room, where lights shone
on frightened faces and huddled forms. In the height of it the landlord
and Sir George appeared. The woman's screams were so violent that it was
rather from the attitude of the group about the door than from anything
they could hear that the two took in the position. The instant they did
so Sir George signed to the servants to stand aside, and drew back to
hurl himself against the door. A cry that the poker was come, and that
with this they could burst the lock with ease, stayed him just in
time--and fortunately; for as they went to adjust the point of the tool
between the lock and the jamb the nearest man cried 'Hush!' and raised
his hand, the door creaked, and in a moment opened inwards. On the
threshold, supporting himself by the door, stood Mr. Dunborough, his
face damp and pale, his eyes furtive and full of a strange horror. He
looked at Sir George.
'He's got it!' he muttered in a hoarse whisper. 'You had better--get a
surgeon. You'll bear me out,' he continued, looking round eagerly, 'he
began it. He flung it in my face. By God--it may go near to hanging me!' Sir George and the landlord pushed by him and went in. The room was
lighted by one candle, burning smokily on the high mantelshelf; the
other lay overturned and extinguished in the folds of a tablecloth which
had been dragged to the floor. On a wooden chair beside the bare table
sat Mr. Pomeroy, huddled chin to breast, his left hand pressed to his
side, his right still resting on the hilt of his small-sword. His face
was the colour of chalk, and a little froth stood on his lips; but his
eyes, turned slightly upwards, still followed his rival with a grim
fixed stare. Sir George marked the crimson stain on his lips, and
raising his hand for silence--for the servants were beginning to crowd
in with exclamations of horror--knelt down beside the chair, ready to
support him in case of need. "They are fetching a surgeon," he said. "He
will be here in a minute."
Mr. Pomeroy's eyes left the door, through which Dunborough had
disappeared, and for a few seconds they dwelt unwinking on Sir George:
but for a while he said nothing. At length, "Too late," he whispered.
"It was my boots--I slipped, or I'd have gone through him. I'm done. Pay
Tamplin--five pounds I owe him."
Soane saw that it was only a matter of minutes, and he signed to the
landlord, who was beginning to lament, to be silent.
"If you can tell me where the girl is--in two words," he said gently,
"will you try to do so?"