Amyas leaped down, took up a rock from the roadside, such as Homer’s heroes used to send at each other’s heads, and in an instant the door was flat on the ground, and the serving-man on his back inside, while Sir Richard quietly entering over it, like Una into the hut, told the fellow to get up and hold his horse for him (which the clod, who knew well enough that terrible voice, did without further murmurs), and then strode straight to the front door.  It was already opened.  The household had been up and about all along, or the noise at the entry had aroused them.

Sir Richard knocked, however, at the open door; and, to his astonishment, his knock was answered by Mr. Leigh himself, fully dressed, and candle in hand.

“Sir Richard Grenville!  What, sir! is this neighborly, not to say gentle, to break into my house in the dead of night?”

“I broke your outer door, sir, because I was refused entrance when I asked in the queen’s name.  I knocked at your inner one, as I should have knocked at the poorest cottager’s in the parish, because I found it open.  You have two Jesuits here, sir! and here is the queen’s warrant for apprehending them.  I have signed it with my own hand, and, moreover, serve it now, with my own hand, in order to save you scandal—­and it may be, worse.  I must have these men, Mr. Leigh.”

“My dear Sir Richard—!”

“I must have them, or I must search the house; and you would not put either yourself or me to so shameful a necessity?”

“My dear Sir Richard!—­”

“Must I, then, ask you to stand back from your own doorway, my dear sir?” said Grenville.  And then changing his voice to that fearful lion’s roar, for which he was famous, and which it seemed impossible that lips so delicate could utter, he thundered, “Knaves, behind there!  Back!”

This was spoken to half-a-dozen grooms and serving-men, who, well armed, were clustered in the passage.

“What? swords out, you sons of cliff rabbits?” And in a moment, Sir Richard’s long blade flashed out also, and putting Mr. Leigh gently aside, as if he had been a child, he walked up to the party, who vanished right and left; having expected a cur dog, in the shape of a parish constable, and come upon a lion instead.  They were stout fellows enough, no doubt, in a fair fight:  but they had no stomach to be hanged in a row at Launceston Castle, after a preliminary running through the body by that redoubted admiral and most unpeaceful justice of the peace.

“And now, my dear Mr. Leigh,” said Sir Richard, as blandly as ever, “where are my men?  The night is cold; and you, as well as I, need to be in our beds.”

“The men, Sir Richard—­the Jesuits—­they are not here, indeed.”

“Not here, sir?”

“On the word of a gentleman, they left my house an hour ago.  Believe me, sir, they did.  I will swear to you if you need.”

“I believe Mr. Leigh of Chapel’s word without oaths.  Whither are they gone?”