"Whew! What the devil of a smell of brandy!" observed Lord Rattley,
mopping his brow in the intervals of helping to hoist the rescued
ones up the moraine. At the top of it, the Inspector, lifting his
head above the broken flooring to shout for help, broke into furious
profanity; for there, in the empty court-room, stood young Trudgian
and his wife, covered, indeed, with white dust, but blissfully wrapt
in their own marvellous escape; and young Trudgian for the moment was
wholly preoccupied in probing with two fingers for a piece of plaster
which had somehow found its way down his Selina's back between the
nape of the neck and the bodice.
"Drop it, you fool, and lend a hand!" objurgated the Inspector;
whereupon Mrs. Trudgian turned about, bridling.
"You leave my Tom alone, please! A man's first call is on his wedded
wife, I reckon."
The rescued magistrates were lifted out, carried forth into fresh
air, and laid on the turf by the wayside to recover somewhat while
the rescuers again wiped perspiring brows.
"A thimbleful o' brandy might do the Admiral good," suggested the
prisoner.
"Brandy?" cried Lord Rattley. "The air reeks of brandy!
Where the--?"
"The basement's swimmin' with it, m' lord.
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