To this I had almost answered bidding him go to the devil, when a damsel put her head over the stair-rail of the landing above and called down to us to obey and open at once:  and looking up in the dim light of the passage I recognized her for the one who had scattered the flowers, just now, to the rioters.

“Pardon me,” said I, “but how shall I know you are not playing us a trick?”

“My good child,” she replied, “open the door and don’t stand arguing.  The riot is over and the square full of military.  The person who knocks is Captain Bright of the Pendennis Garrison.  If you don’t believe me, step upstairs here and look out of window.”

“My father—­” I began.

“Your father is right enough, and so is that fool of a Mayor—­or will be when he has drunk down a glass of cordial.”

Nevertheless I would not obey her until I had sent Nat Fiennes upstairs to look; who within a minute called over the stair-head that the woman told the truth and I had my father’s leave to open.  Thereupon I pulled open the upper flap of the door, and stood blinking at a tall officer in gorgeous regimentals.

“Hullo!” said he.  “Good morning!”

“Good morning!” said I.  “And forgive me that I kept you waiting.”

“Don’t mention it,” said he very affably.  “My fault entirely, for coming late; or rather the Mayor’s, who sent word that we weren’t needed.  I took the liberty to doubt this as soon as my sentries reported that a couple of boats’ crews were putting ashore from the Townshend packet:  and here we are in consequence.  Got him safe?”

“The Mayor?” said I.  “Yes, I believe he is upstairs at this moment, drinking brandy-and-water and pulling himself together.”

The Captain grinned amiably.  “Sorry to disturb him,” said he; “but the mob is threatening to burn his house, and I’d best take him along to read the Riot Act and put things ship-shape.”

“He has read it already, or some part of it.”

“Some part of it won’t do.  He must read the whole proclamation, not forgetting ‘God save the King.’”

“If you can find the paper,” said I, “there’s a lump of mud on it, marking the place where he left off.”

The Captain grinned again.  “I doubt he’ll have to begin afresh after breaking off to drink brandy-and-water with Moll Whiteaway.  For a chief magistrate that will need some explaining.  And yet,” mused the Captain, as he stepped into the passage, “you may have done him a better turn than ever you guessed; for, when the mob sees the humour of it, belike it’ll be more for laughing than setting fire to his house.”

“But who is Moll Whiteaway?” I asked.

He stared at me.  “You mean to say you didn’t know?” he asked slowly.  “You didn’t bring him here for a joke?”

“A joke?” I echoed.  “A mighty queer joke, sir, you’d have thought it, if your men had been five minutes earlier.”