Explore "False Evidence" by E. Phillips Oppenheim on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
That was quite an eventful night in our quiet life. Whilst we three stood looking at one another half fearfully -- I full of this strange, new idea which had just occurred to me -- we heard the latch of our garden gate lifted, and Mr. Cox, the vicar of Porlock and my instructor in the classics, followed by no fewer than four large-limbed, broad-shouldered, Porlock men, entered.
They made their way up the steep garden path, and my father, in no little surprise, rose to greet them. With Mr. Cox he shook hands and then glanced inquiringly at his followers, who, after touching their hats respectfully, stood in a row looking supremely uncomfortable, and each betraying a strong disposition to retire a little behind the others. Mr. Cox proceeded to explain matters.