for this.

"Take him into the house. In with you all.

"You scoundrel!"

"An' you please, Sir Willoughby, 'tis--" began one of the servants.

"In with you, I say," roared the squire. "I'll know how to deal with the
villain."

The culprit was hustled into the house, and the group followed, Sir
Willoughby bringing up the rear. Inside he barred and locked the door,
and bade the men carry their prisoner to the library. The corridors and
staircase were dark, but by the time the squire had mounted on his gouty
legs, candles had been lighted, and the face of the housebreaker was for
the first time visible. Two servants held the man; the others, with
Desmond and Dickon, looked on in amazement.

"Job Grinsell, on my soul and body!" cried the squire. "You villain! You
ungrateful knave! Is this how you repay me? I might have hanged you, you
scoundrel, when you poached my game; a word from me and Sir Philip would
have seen you whipped before he let his inn to you; but I was too kind; I
am a fool; and you--by, gad, you shall hang this time."

The squire's face was purple with anger, and he shook his stick as though
then and there he would have wrought chastisement on the offender.
Grinsell's flabby face, however, expressed amusement rather than fear.

"Bless my soul!" cried the squire, suddenly turning to his men, "I'd