"Lift, I tell ye! Lift! . . . What the--'s wrong with that end o'
the beam? Stuck, is it? Jammed? Jammed your grandmothers!
Nobbut a few pounds o' loose lime an' plaster beddin' it. Get down
on your knees an' clear it. . . . That's better! And now pull!
PULL, I say! Oh, not _that_ way, you rabbits!--here, let me show
you!"

By efforts Herculean, first digging the rubbish clear with clawed
hands, then straining and heaving till their loins had almost
cracked, they levered up the table at length, and released not only
the Admiral, but the two remaining magistrates, whom they found
pinned under its weight, one unharmed, but in a swoon, the other
moaning feebly with the pain of two broken ribs.

"Whew! What the devil of a smell of brandy!" observed Lord Rattley,
mopping his brow in the intervals of helping to hoist the rescued
ones up the moraine. At the top of it, the Inspector, lifting his
head above the broken flooring to shout for help, broke into furious
profanity; for there, in the empty court-room, stood young Trudgian
and his wife, covered, indeed, with white dust, but blissfully wrapt
in their own marvellous escape; and young Trudgian for the moment was
wholly preoccupied in probing with two fingers for a piece of plaster
which had somehow found its way down his Selina's back between the
nape of the neck and the bodice.

"Drop it, you fool, and lend a hand!" objurgated the Inspector;
whereupon Mrs. Trudgian turned about, bridling.

"You leave my Tom alone, please! A man's first call is on his wedded
wife, I reckon."