“You see how it is, Captain Scarborough,” said Tyrrwhit; “Your father, as has just been laid to rest in hopes of a a happy resurrection, was a very peculiar gentleman.”

“The most hinfernal swindler I ever ’eard tell of!” said Hart.

“I don’t wish to say a word disrespectful,” continued Tyrrwhit, “but he had his own notions.  He said as you was illegitimate,—­didn’t he, now?”

“I can only refer you to Mr. Barry,” said Mountjoy.

“And he said that Mr. Augustus was to have it all; and he proved his words,—­didn’t he, now?  And then he made out that, if so, our deeds weren’t worth the paper they were written on.  Isn’t it all true what I’m saying?  And then when we’d taken what small sums of money he chose to offer us, just to save ourselves from ruin, then he comes up and says you are the heir, as legitimate as anybody else, and are to have all the property.  And he proves that too!  What are we to think about it?”

There was nothing left for Mountjoy Scarborough but to make the pace as good as possible.  Mr. Hart tried once and again to stop their progress by standing in the captain’s path, but could only do this sufficiently at each stoppage to enable him to express his horror with various interjections.  “Oh laws! that such a liar as ’e should ever be buried!”

“You can’t do anything by being disrespectful, Mr. Hart,” said Tyrrwhit.

“What—­is it—­he means—­to do?” ejaculated Spicer.

“Mr. Spicer,” said Mountjoy, “I mean to leave it all in the hands of Mr. Barry; and, if you will believe me, no good can be done by any of you by hunting me across the park.”

“Hare you a bastard, or haren’t you?” ejaculated Hart.

“No, Mr. Hart, I am not.”

“Then pay us what you h’owes us.  You h’ain’t h’agoing to say as you don’t h’owe us?”

“Mr. Tyrrwhit,” said the captain, “it is of no use my answering Mr. Hart, because he is angry.”

“H’angry!  By George, I h’am angry!  I’d like to pull that h’old sinner’s bones h’out of the ground!”

“But to you I can say that Mr. Barry will be better able to tell you than I am what can be done by me to defend my property.”

“Captain Scarborough,” said Mr. Tyrrwhit, mildly, “we had your name, you know.  We did have your name.”

“And my father bought the bonds back.”

“Oh laws!  And he calls himself a shentleman!”

“I have nothing farther to say to you now, gentlemen, and can only refer you to Mr. Barry.”  The path on which they were walking had then brought them to the corner of a garden wall, through which a door opened into the garden.  Luckily, at the moment, it occurred to Mountjoy that there was a bolt on the other side of the gate, and he entered it quickly and bolted the door.  Mr. Tyrrwhit was left on the other side, and was joined by his companions as quickly as their failing breath enabled them to do so. “’Ere’s a go!” said Mr. Hart, striking the door violently with the handle of his stick.