"No," said I, and I told him again. Finally he took two paces within the room and sung out in a loud voice:
"The O'Rubby."
I heard the voice of the sick old Earl calling out from his great chair. "Why, 't is the Irishman. Bid him enter. I am glad—I am always very glad—ahem!"
As I strode into the room I was aware of another buzz of talk. Apparently here, too, were plenty of people who knew me as the famous swordsman. The Earl moved his jaw and mumbled.
"Aye," said he at last, "here is The O'Ruddy. And, do you know, Mr. O'Ruddy, I have been foully robbed, and, among other things, have lost your worthless papers?"
"I heard that you had lost them," I answered composedly. "But I refuse to take your word that they are worthless."
Many people stared, and the Earl gave me a firm scowl. But after consideration he spoke as if he thought it well to dissemble a great dislike of me. The many candles burned very brightly, and we could all see each other. I thought it better to back casually toward the wall.
"You never accomplish anything," coughed the sick Earl. "Yet you are for ever prating of yourself. I wish my son were here. My papers are gone. I shall never recover them."
"The papers are in the breast of my coat at this moment," said I coolly.
There was a great tumult. The Earl lost his head and cried:
