None came. That bell had single possession
of the night. The possibility that only patrolling was required of him
nerved him to draw from his concealment. He lit a candle; into
trousers pushed his quivering legs; upon tottering limbs passed up the
stairs to Mr. Marrapit's room.
"Judas!" Mr. Marrapit greeted him.
Mr. Fletcher sighed relief: "I thought it was rapine."
"You have betrayed your trust. You are Iscariot."
"I come when you rung."
"Silence. I have heard voices."
"God help us," Mr. Fletcher piously groaned; the candle in his shaking
hand showered wax.
"Blasphemer! He will not help the craven. Gird yourself."
"I'll call Mr. George."
"Refrain. I will attend to that. Gird yourself. Take the musket from
the hall. It is loaded. Patrol!"
"I don't want the musket."
"Be not overbold. Outside you may be at their mercy."
"_Outside!_"
"Assuredly."
"Me patrol outside!"
"That is your task. Forward!"
By now Mr. Marrapit had risen; swathed himself in a dressing-gown.
Sternly he addressed Mr. Fletcher: "As you this night quit yourself so
will I consider the question of your dismissal. If blood is spilt this
night it will be upon your head."
Mr. Fletcher trembled. "That's just it. It's 'ard--damn 'ard--"
"Forward, Iscariot." Mr. Marrapit drove Judas before him; in the hall
took down the gun and pressed it into the shaking hands.
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