“Did you ever see them before?” inquired Henry of his mother, who held up her hand to look more carefully at the strangers; then, shaking her head, she declared she had never seen such persons as those.

“I dare say not,” said Charles Holland.  “They certainly are not gentlemen; but here they come; there is some mistake, I daresay—­they don’t want to come here.”

As they spoke, the two strangers got down; after picking up a topcoat they had let fall, they turned round, and deliberately put it into the chaise again; they walked up the path to the door, at which they knocked.

The door was opened by the old woman, when the two men entered.

“Does Francis Beauchamp live here?”

“Eh?” said the old woman, who was a little deaf, and she put her hand behind her ear to catch the sounds more distinctly—­“eh?—­who did you say?”

Sir Francis Varney started as the sounds came upon his ear, but he sat still an attentive listener.

“Are there any strangers in the house?” inquired the other officer, impatiently.  “Who is here?”

“Strangers!” said the old woman; “you are the only strangers that I have seen here.”

“Come,” said the officer to his companion, “come this way; there are people in this parlour.  Our business must be an apology for any rudeness we may commit.”

As he spoke he stepped by the old woman, and laying his hand upon the handle of the door, entered the apartment, at the same time looking carefully around the room as if he expected some one.

“Ladies,” said the stranger, with an off-hand politeness that had something repulsive in it, though it was meant to convey a notion that civility was intended; “ladies, I beg pardon for intruding, but I am looking for a gentleman.”

“You shall hear from me again soon,” said Sir Francis, in an almost imperceptible whisper.

“What is the object of this intrusion?” demanded Henry Bannerworth, rising and confronting the stranger.  “This is a strange introduction.”

“Yes, but not an unusual one,” said the stranger, “in these cases—­being unavoidable, at the least.”

“Sir,” said Charles Holland, “if you cannot explain quickly your business here, we will proceed to take those measures which will at least rid ourselves of your company.”

“Softly, sir.  I mean no offence—­not the least; but I tell you I do not come for any purpose that is at all consonant to my wishes.  I am a Bow-street officer in the execution of my duty—­excuse me, therefore.”

“Whom do you want?”

“Francis Beauchamp; and, from the peculiarity of the appearance of this individual here, I think I may safely request the pleasure of his company.”

Varney now rose, and the officer made a rush at him, when he saw him do so, saying,—­

“Surrender in the king’s name.”

Varney, however, paid no attention to that, but rushed past, throwing his chair down to impede the officer, who could not stay himself, but fell over it, while Varney made a rush towards the window, which he cleared at one bound, and crossing the road, was lost to sight in a few seconds, in the trees and hedges on the other side.