And it was at that moment the balance changed again.

Those who were in the front rank of the pursuers were in time to see a lithe, thin figure--dressed as one of their own kind--spring up in the path of that other figure, jump on it, grip it, clap a huge square of sticky brown paper over the howling mouth of it, and bear it, struggling and kicking, to the ground.
In another second they, too, were upon it--swarming over it like rats, and digging and hacking at it with their dirks.

And so they were still hacking at it--although it had long since ceased to move, or to make any sound--when Merode came up and called them to a halt.
"Drag it inside; let Margot have a thrust at it--it is her right.

Pull off the dog's disguise, and bring me the plucky one that captured him.
He shall have absinthe enough to swim in, the little king! Off with it all, Lanchere.

First, the plaster--that's right.