Of a truth, none of these gentlemen—­who were now content to oppose a comprehensive vocabulary of English and French oaths to the brand-new weapons of my Lord Protector’s police—­were cowards in any sense of the word.  Less than a decade ago they had proved their mettle not only sword in hand, but in the face of the many privations, sorrows and humiliations consequent on the failure of their cause and the defeat, and martyrdom of their king.  There was, therefore, nothing mean or pusillanimous in their attitude when having exhausted their vocabulary of oaths and still seeing before them the muzzles of four-and-twenty musketoons pointed straight at them, they one after another dropped their sword points and turned to read in each other’s faces uniform desire to surrender to force majeure.

The Captain watched them—­impassive and silent—­until the moment when he too, could discern in the sullen looks cast at him by some twenty pairs of eyes, that these elegant gentlemen had conquered their impulse to hot-headed resistance.

But the four-and-twenty musketoons were still leveled, nor did the round-headed Captain give the order to lower the firearms.

“I can release most of you, gentlemen, on parole,” he said, “an you’ll surrender your swords to me, you may go home this night, under promise to attend the Court to-morrow morning.”

Bradden in the meanwhile had gone to the inner door and finding it locked had ordered his companion to break it open.  It yielded to the first blow dealt with a vigorous shoulder.  The lieutenant went into the room, but finding it empty, he returned and soon was busy in collecting the various “pieces de convictions,” which would go to substantiate the charges of gambling and betting against these noble gentlemen.  No resistance now was offered, and after a slight moment of hesitation and a brief consultation ’twixt the more prominent cavaliers there present, Lord Walterton stepped forward and having unbuckled his sword, threw it with no small measure of arrogance and disdain at the feet of Captain Gunning.

His example was followed by all his friends, Gunning with arms folded across his chest, watching the proceeding in silence.  When Endicott stood before him, however, he said curtly: 

“Not you, I think.  Meseems I know you too well, fine sir, to release you on parole.  Bradden,” he added, turning to his lieutenant, “have this man duly guarded and conveyed to Queen’s Head Alley to-night.”

Then as Endicott tried to protest, and Gunning gave a sharp order for his immediate removal, Segrave pushed his way forward; he wore no sword, and like Lambert, had stood aloof throughout this brief scene of turbulent yet futile resistance, sullen, silent, and burning with a desire for revenge against the man who had turned the current of his luck, and brought him back to that abyss of despair, whence he now knew there could be no release.