He ran to the top of the ladder and looked down.
At the bottom stood Tinker regarding him with an excellent sardonic
smile: "Ha! ha!" he cried in a gruff, triumphant voice,
"Trapped--trapped!" And he turned on his heel.
The money-lender heard the door slam and the key turn in the lock. He
ran to the parapet, and saw Tinker mounting his pony with an easy grace
and the air of one who has performed a meritorious action.
"Hi! Hullo! What are you up to?" cried Mr. Lambert.
"Foul extortioner! Your crimes have found you out! You have consigned
many a poor soul to the dungeon, it is your turn now," said Tinker with
admirable grandiloquence. Then, dropping to his ordinary voice, he
added plaintively: "Of course it's not really a dungeon; it ought to be
underground--with rats. But we must make the best of it."
"Look here, my lad," said Mr. Lambert thickly. "I don't want any of
your silly games! I shall be late enough home as it is. You unlock
that door, and show me the way to this Beg's at once! D'ye hear?"
Tinker laughed a good scornful laugh. "Lambert of London," he said,
returning to the romantic vein, "to-night reflect on your misdeeds.
To-morrow we will treat of your ransom. Hans Breithelm and Jorgan
Schwartz, ye answer for this caitiff's safe keeping with your heads! I
charge ye watch him well.
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