But as no answer was returned to the summons, though it was again, and
more peremptorily, repeated, Baptist seized a mallet from a bystander
and burst open the door. Followed by Van Galgebrok and others of his
retinue, he then rushed into the room, where Rowland, Sir Cecil, and
their attendants, stood with drawn swords prepared to receive them.

"Beat down their blades," cried the Master; "no bloodshed."

"Beat out their brains, you mean," rejoined Blueskin with a tremendous
imprecation; "no half measures now, Master."

"Hadn't you better hold a moment's parley with the gentlemen before
proceeding to extremities?" suggested Jonathan.

"Agreed," responded the Master. "Surely," he added, staring at Rowland,
"either I'm greatly mistaken, or it is--"

"You are not mistaken, Baptist," returned Rowland with a gesture of
silence; "it is your old friend. I'm glad to recognise you."

"And I'm glad your worship's recognition doesn't come too late,"
observed the Master. "But why didn't you make yourself known at once?"

"I'd forgotten the office you hold in the Mint, Baptist," replied
Rowland. "But clear the room of this rabble, if you have sufficient
authority over them. I would speak with you."

"There's but one way of clearing it, your worship," said the Master,
archly.