He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. " "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. The stoppage had materially lessened the distance between him and his pursuers, who now amounted to more than a hundred persons, many of whom carried lanterns and links. Then he opened the study door and called “Mollie!” and returned to assume an attitude of authority on the hearthrug, before the blue flames and orange glow of the gas fire. After I took the bills it was too late to turn back.
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