“Captain,” he said firmly, “though I wear no sword I am at one with all these gentlemen, and I accept my release on parole.  To-morrow I will answer for my offense of playing cards, which apparently, is an illicit pastime.  I am one of the pigeons who have been plucked in this house.”

“By that gentleman?” queried Gunning with a grim smile and nodding over his shoulder in the direction where Endicott was being led away by a couple of armed men.

“No! not by him!” replied Segrave boldly.

With a somewhat theatrical gesture he pointed to Lambert, who, more of a spectator than a participant in the scene, had been standing mutely by outside the defiant group, absorbed in his own misery, wondering what effect the present unforeseen juncture would have on his future chances of rehabilitating himself.

He was also vaguely wondering what had become of Sir Marmaduke and Mistress de Chavasse.

But now Segrave’s voice was raised, and once more Lambert found himself the cynosure of a number of hostile glances.

“There stands the man who has robbed us all,” said Segrave wildly, “and now he has heaped disgrace upon us, upon me and mine....  Curse him! ... curse him, I say!” he continued, whilst all the pent-up fury, forcibly kept in check all this while by the advent of the police, now once more found vent in loud vituperation and almost maniacal expressions of rage.  “Liar ... cheat! ...  Look at him, Captain! there stands the man who must bear the full brunt of the punishment, for he is the decoy, he is the thief! ...  The pillory for him ... the pillory ... the lash ... the brand! ...  Curse him! ...  Curse him! ... the thief! ...”

He was surrounded and forcibly silenced.  The foam had risen to his lips, impotent fury and agonized despair had momentarily clouded his brain.  Lambert tried to speak, but the Captain, unwilling to prolong a conflict over which he was powerless to arbitrate, gave a sign to Bradden and anon the two young men were led away in the wake of Endicott.

The others on giving their word that they would appear before the Court on the morrow, and answer to the charge preferred against them, were presently allowed to walk out of the room in single file between a double row of soldiers whose musketoons were still unpleasantly conspicuous.

Thus they passed out one by one, across the passage and down the dark staircase.  The door below they found was also guarded; as well as the passage and the archway giving on the street.

Here they were permitted to collect or disperse at will.  The ladies, however, had not been allowed to participate in the order for release.  Gunning knew most of them by sight,—­they were worthy neither of consideration nor respect,—­paid satellites of Mistress Endicott’s, employed to keep up the good spirits of that lady’s clientele.

The soldiers drove them all together before them, in a compact, shrinking and screaming group.  Then the word of command was given.  The soldiers stood at attention, turned and finally marched out of the room with their prisoners, Gunning being the last to leave.