The Vicar had fled the town by the North, or Passage, Gate, and was by this time devouring a country walk in long strides, heedless whither they led him, vainly endeavouring to compose his thoughts and readjust his prophecies in the light of the morning's events--a process which from time to time compelled him to halt and hold his head between both hands.
The Major had slammed his front door, locked himself in his room, and would give audience to no one.
It was in vain that the inhabitants besieged his porch, demanding to know if the town were bewitched.

Who had gutted their shops?
Why the causeways swam with strong liquor?
How the churchyard came to be full of cattle?
What hand had fired Farmer Elford's ricks?
In short, what in the world had happened, and what was to be done?
They came contritely, conscious of their undeserving; but to each and all Scipio, from the head of the steps, returned the same answer.
His master was indisposed.
Troy, ordinarily a busy town, did no business at all that day.
Tradesmen and workmen in small groups at every street-corner discussed a mystery--or rather a series of mysteries--with which, as they well knew, one man alone was competent to grapple.

To his good offices they had forfeited all right.

Nevertheless, a crowd hung about all day in front of the Mayor's house, nor dispersed until long after nightfall.

At eight o'clock next morning they reassembled, word having flown through the town that Dr.Hansombody and Lawyer Chinn had been summoned soon after daybreak to a private conference.
At eight-thirty the Vicar arrived and entered the house, Scipio admitting him with ceremony and at once shutting the door behind him with an elaborate show of caution.
But at a quarter to ten precisely the door opened again and the great man himself stood on the threshold.