“There,” cried Jackson, closing the book and rising, “that’ll do.  To-morrow at twelve I’ll be with you, Mr. Wood.  Make up your mind as to the terms, and I’ll engage to find the man.”

“Hold!” exclaimed the carpenter, in an authoritative voice:  “we can’t part thus.  Thames, look the door.” (An order which was promptly obeyed.) “Now, Sir, I must insist upon a full explanation of your mysterious hints, or, as I am headborough of the district, I shall at once take you into custody.”

Jackson treated this menace with a loud laugh of derision.

“What ho!” he cried slapping Smith, who had fallen asleep with the brandy-bottle in his grasp, upon the shoulder.  “It is time!”

“For what?” grumbled the latter, rubbing his eyes.

“For the caption!” replied Jackson, coolly drawing a brace of pistols from his pockets.

“Ready!” answered Smith, shaking himself, and producing a similar pair of weapons.

“In Heaven’s name! what’s all this?” cried Wood.

“Be still, and you’ll receive no injury,” returned Jackson.  “We’re merely about to discharge our duty by apprehending a rebel.  Captain Kneebone! we must trouble you to accompany us.”

“I’ve no intention of stirring,” replied the woollen-draper, who was thus unceremoniously disturbed:  “and I beg you’ll sit down, Mr. Jackson.”

“Come, Sir!” thundered the latter, “no trifling!  Perhaps,” he added, opening a warrant, “you’ll obey this mandate?”

“A warrant!” ejaculated Kneebone, starting to his feet.

“Ay, Sir, from the Secretary of State, for your arrest!  You’re charged with high-treason.”

“By those who’ve conspired with me?”

“No! by those who’ve entrapped you!  You’ve long eluded our vigilance; but we’ve caught you at last!”

“Damnation!” exclaimed the woollen-draper; “that I should be the dupe of such a miserable artifice!”

“It’s no use lamenting now, Captain!  You ought rather to be obliged to us for allowing you to pay this visit.  We could have secured you when you left the Mint.  But we wished to ascertain whether Mrs. Wood’s charms equalled your description.”

“Wretches!” screamed the lady; “don’t dare to breathe your vile insinuations against me!  Oh!  Mr. Kneebone, are these your French noblemen?”

“Don’t upbraid me!” rejoined the woollen-draper.

“Bring him along, Joe!” said Jackson, in a whisper to his comrade.

Smith obeyed.  But he had scarcely advanced a step, when he was felled to the ground by a blow from the powerful arm of Kneebone, who, instantly possessing himself of a pistol, levelled it at Jackson’s head.

“Begone! or I fire!” he cried.

“Mr. Wood,” returned Jackson, with the utmost composure; “you’re a headborough, and a loyal subject of King George.  I call upon you to assist me in the apprehension of this person.  You’ll be answerable for his escape.”