CHAPTER TWELVE.
IN WHICH NEMESIS HAS A BUSY TIME OF IT.
Our heroes had all along had a presentiment that their troubles would begin some time or other.

They had expected it at the very start; but it had been put off stage by stage throughout the day, until it really seemed as if it must make haste, if it was to come at all.
And yet everything had gone so smoothly so far; the day had been so successful, the match so glorious, the supper so gorgeous, that they could hardly bring themselves to think Nemesis would really pounce upon them.
That worthy lady, however, though she often takes long credit, always pays her debts in the long run, and our heroes found her waiting for them before Grandcourt was many miles behind them.
They had been baulked in their intention of getting back into the friendly shelter of coach five at the outset, by the very awkward fact that Mansfield would stand at the door of Grandcourt, talking to a friend, until coach five had received its passengers, and started.
Coach six followed, and to the horror of our two skulkers the way was still blocked.

Things were getting desperate.

The top of number _six_ was packed, and still Mansfield stood across the door.
Should they throw themselves on his mercy, or hurl themselves between his feet, and overturn him, if haply they might escape in the confusion?
How they hated that Grandcourt fellow who talked to him.

What business had he to keep a Templeton fellow there catching cold?
Why hadn't all Grandcourt been ordered to bed directly after supper?
Horrors! Coach six shouted "All right!" and rattled off.
"We're done for," said Heathcote.