The rescued magistrates were lifted out, carried forth into fresh
air, and laid on the turf by the wayside to recover somewhat while
the rescuers again wiped perspiring brows.

"A thimbleful o' brandy might do the Admiral good," suggested the
prisoner.

"Brandy?" cried Lord Rattley. "The air reeks of brandy!
Where the--?"

"The basement's swimmin' with it, m' lord." The fellow touched his
hat. "Two casks stove by the edge o' the table. I felt around the
staves, an' counted six others, hale an' tight. Thinks I, 'tis what
their Worships will have been keepin' for private use, between
whiles. Or elst--"

"Or else?"

"Or else maybe we've tapped a private cellar."

Lord Rattley slapped his thigh.

"A _cache_, by Jove! Old Squire Nicholas--I remember, as a boy,
hearing it whispered he was hand-in-glove with the Free Trade."

The prisoner touched his hat humbly.

"This bein' a magistrates' matter, m' lord, an' me not wishin' to
interfere--"