“What a fool I was,” he muttered to himself, “to have come without my pistol.  I would have shot him as he sits, and so wiped out Drogheda.”

At the moment the door opened, and a trooper in Scotch uniform entered.  “I have brought this letter,” he said, “from Alan Campbell.”

The general took the letter and opened it.  “Campbell promises,” he said to the other officer, “to open fire upon the detachment in the village with the guns of the castle as soon as we attack.  One of the men who has brought this will remain here and guide our troops across the morass.  He suggests that two hundred foot and as many horse should be here at eight to-morrow evening.  All he stipulates for is that Colonel Furness, the Royalist who commands the enemy’s detachment, shall be given over to him, he having, it seems, some enmity with Argyll.  Furness? ah, that is the officer whom I sent to the Bermudas from Drogheda.  We had advices of his having got away and captured a ship with other prisoners on board.  A bold fellow, and a good officer, but all the more dangerous.  Let Campbell do with him as he likes.”

The other officer drew out an inkhorn and wrote, at Cromwell’s dictation, his adherence to the terms offered by Alan Campbell.  Cromwell signed the paper, and handed it to the messenger.  Then the English general and his escort mounted and rode off.  Campbell’s retainers sat for half an hour drinking together.  Then they came to the door.  One mounted, and saying to the other, “I would rather have twenty-four hours’ sleep such as you have before you, than have to ride back to Kirkglen to-night; the mist is setting in thickly,” rode off into the darkness.

Mike kept close to him, until at last the man dismounted to follow the track where the morass was most dangerous.  In an instant Mike sprang upon him and buried his dagger in his body.  Without a cry the trooper fell.  Mike felt in his doublet for Cromwell’s letter.  Placing this in his breast, he went a few paces from the path where he found that he sunk to his knees, the water being some inches deep over the bog.  Then he returned, lifted the body of the trooper, carried it as far into the bog as he dared venture, and then dropped it.  He placed his foot on the iron breastpiece, and pressed until the body sank in the soft ooze, and the water completely covered it.  Then he went back to the horse, and taking the reins, followed the track until completely clear of the moorland country, where, mounting, he rode back to Kirkglen, and presented himself to Harry.  The latter had, hours before, gone to bed, having posted strong guards around the village.  He struck a light and listened to Mike’s relation of what he had done, and ended by the production of the document with Cromwell’s signature.

“Another debt to the Earl of Argyll,” Harry said grimly.  “However, although this proves the treachery of his kinsman, it does not convict Argyll himself, although the evidence is strong enough to hang any other man.  Now, Leslie, what do you advise?  Shall we send and seize the man left at the hut?”