"I was awarding the palm for general iniquity, dear Mrs. Banks,"

explained Mr. Mainwaring smilingly, "to the plumbing fraternity.

Plumbers--"

Mrs. Welwyn made a hasty movement, but it was too late. Grandma's bowed and shrivelled form suddenly swelled and stiffened.

"Ho, was you?" she enquired with rising indignation. "Then let me tell you that my late 'usband, Mr. Josiah Banks, what was very 'ighly respected in 'Itchin--"

Tilly dropped two teaspoons despairingly, and there was another and more timely b.u.mp overhead.

"Percy dear," interposed Mrs. Welwyn hastily, "don't you think you had better run up and see what those wretches are doing?"

"Righto, Mother," said Percy, rising with alacrity.

"My late 'usband--" resumed Mrs. Banks, _crescendo_.

"It certainly is an extraordinary noise," remarked Mr. Welwyn loudly.

"They appear to be on the staircase now."

"Sliding down the banisters, no doubt," said d.i.c.ky. "Playful little fellows! Shall I come with you, Percy?"

Percy Welwyn paused, a little embarra.s.sed.

"Don't trouble," he said. "You see--"

He paused again--fatally.

"My late 'usband," proclaimed Grandma Banks on the top note of her register, "was a plumber 'imself."

Next moment the double doors burst open, and Mr. Mehta Ram, frantic with terror, hurled himself into the room.

CHAPTER XXII

THE REAL TILLY

Mr. Mehta Ram promptly fell at the feet of Mr. Welwyn, and attempted, in true Old Testament fashion, to embrace that embarra.s.sed scholar and gentleman by the knees.

"Keep him out!" he shrieked. "Great snakes, I implore you! Lock the door!"

In the absence of the snakes this office was performed by Percy and d.i.c.ky. Directly afterwards there was a rush of feet down the staircase, and a fusilade of blows began to rain upon the panels.

"Open the door!" commanded a voice, in a frenzied Paisley accent. "I'm wanting in! Tae break his neck," it added in explanation.

d.i.c.ky and Percy promptly put their backs against the door. Mrs. Welwyn crossed hastily to her husband's side.

"It's that Pumpherston," she announced in a low voice. "What are we to do?"

Mr. Welwyn addressed the suppliant at his feet.

"Come, Mr. Mehta Ram," he said, "don't be frightened. He can't get in.

What is the trouble?"

Mr. Mehta Ram lifted his face from Mr. Welwyn's boots and addressed the company at large.

"Mr. Welwyn, Mrs. Welwyn, and general public," he began--the latter designation was apparently intended for the Mainwaring family, who, with the exception of d.i.c.ky, had ranged themselves into a compact group on the further side of the room--"I appeal to you as British subject--as a member of that great Empire upon which the sun never sits--"

"Sets, old comrade!" corrected d.i.c.ky from the door.

"Shed your tears!" commanded Mr. Ram, disregarding the interruption.

"Give us a look in! I am in jeopardy--in a damtight place! My adversary knocks upon the door--the avenging Pumpherston! He arraigns me of petty larceny. He accuses me that I have confiscated his table. But I am innocent! I make my defence! I throw myself--Ah-a-a-a-a-h! Help!"

The other door--that leading into Mr. Welwyn's bedroom, which itself communicated with the landing outside--burst open, and a small, red-whiskered, and intensely ferocious gentleman bounded in. It was the avenging Pumpherston.

Mr. Ram bolted across the room like an obese rabbit, and took refuge behind the hostile but protective form of Lady Adela.

The avenger paused, obviously nonplussed by the size of the a.s.sembly.

"I beg your paurdon," he said awkwardly. "I wis not aware--"

He turned, to find Percy and d.i.c.ky standing beside him, one at each shoulder.

"We were half expecting you, Mr. Pumpherston," said d.i.c.ky, with a friendly smile. "But if you and this gentleman are playing hide-and-seek, the den is upstairs."

"I beg your paurdon," repeated Mr. Pumpherston, whose bellicosity was fast evaporating, "but yon fat heathen has robbed me. He has lifted a piece of furniture--Heh! Let me get at him!"

With a convulsive bound he wrenched himself free from his interlocutors and made a dash for the door. But he was too late. Mr. Mehta Ram, keeping under the lee of Lady Adela and the furniture, had made use of the brief respite afforded by the recital of his a.s.sailant's grievances to effect an unostentatious departure, and was now halfway up the staircase again. The baffled Pumpherston followed him with a long-drawn howl.

"Come on, Percy!" said d.i.c.ky.

The pair raced out in pursuit, banging the door behind them. Presently from abovestairs came the sound of renewed conflict; a few dull thuds and m.u.f.fled crashes; and then--silence.

Lady Adela rose to her feet in awful majesty, and addressed the stunned and demoralised remnants of the tea-party.

"Is this a private asylum," she enquired in trumpet tones, "or is it not?"

Grandma Banks was the only member of her audience who replied.

"My late 'usband," she whimpered--"my late 'usband, Mr. Josiah Banks!

Greatly respected in 'Itchin--greatly respec--"

Tears coursed slowly down her furrowed cheeks.

In a moment Tilly was kneeling beside her, with her arms round the frail old body, whispering gently and caressingly into her ear. There was a long silence, and Sylvia began to pull on her gloves.