The maid knows me.
Only you two must keep back in the shadow here while she opens the door." He stepped forward and knocked boldly.
To the astonishment of us all the door opened almost at once, and without any noise of unlocking or drawing of bolts.
"For Heaven's sake, my dear--unless you want to wake the village--" began a voice testily.

It was Mr.Whitmore's, and almost on the instant, by the light of a candle which he held, he recognised the man on the doorstep.
"Mr.Rogers?
To what do I owe--" "Good evening, Whitmore! May I come in?
Won't detain you long-- especially since you seem to be expecting company." "It's the maid," answered Mr.Whitmore coldly, though he seemed confused.

"She has stepped down to the village for an hour, to her mother's cottage, and I am alone." "So you call her 'my dear'?
That's a bit pastoral, eh ?" "Look here, Rogers: if you're drunk, I beg you to call at some other time.

To tell the truth, I'm busy." "Writing your sermon?
I thought Saturday was the night for that.
'Pon my honour now I wouldn't intrude, only the business is urgent." He waited while Mr.Whitmore somewhat grudgingly set the door wide to admit him.

"By the way I've brought a couple of friends with me." "Confound it all, Rogers--" "Oh, you know them." Mr.Rogers, with his foot planted over the threshold, airily waved us forward out of the darkness.