My plans therefore were more secure than Rumbald’s; since I knew, either that His Majesty would come, and no harm done, or that, merely, he would not come.  In the latter case Rumbald would be certified that I had done as he thought I would; and would, no doubt, let me go peacefully, to use me again later in the same manner, if occasion rose.  For myself, then, I intended after nightfall at the latest to ride back to London and report all that had passed; and, if the King had not come, to lay all in Mr. Chiffinch’s hands for his further protection.

I was left a good deal to myself during the morning—­Mr. Rumbald’s powers of dissimulation being, I think, less than his desire for them; and I did not quarrel with that.  I was very restless myself, and spent a good deal of time in examining the house and the old arms, used no doubt, forty years ago in the Civil War, that were hung up everywhere.  Within, as well as without, it was liker an arsenal or a barracks, than a dwelling-house.  Its lonely situation too, and its strength, made it a very suitable place for such a design as that which its owner had for it.  The great chamber, at the head of the stairs, and over the archway, where we had our food, was no doubt the room where the conspirators had held their meetings.

A little before eleven o’clock, as I was walking in the open space between the house and the gate, I saw a fellow look in suddenly from the road, and then was away again.  Every movement perturbed me, as may be imagined in such suspense; yet anything was better than ignorance, and I called out to let him see that I had observed him.  So he came forward again; and I saw him to be the little carpenter, or what not, that had wished to speak to Rumbald yesterday at the inn.

He saluted me very properly.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said he, “but is Mr. Rumbald within?”

Now I had seen Mr. Rumbald, not ten minutes ago, slip back into the house from the outhouses where he had pretended to go upon some preparation or other for the reception of the assassins this evening; but he had not known that I saw him.

“He is very busy at present,” said I.  “Cannot I do your business for you?”

(I tried to look as if I knew more than I did.)

“Why, sir,” he said, “I think not.”

He seemed, I thought, in a very pitiable state. (I learned some months later that he was come down expressly to dissuade Rumbald from any attempt at that time; but I did not know that then.) Here, only, thought I, is one of the chicken-hearted ones.  I determined to play upon his fears, if I could, and at the same time, perhaps, upon his hopes.

“I think I can, however,” I said.  “You would be out of the business, if you could, would you not?”

He turned so white that I thought he would have fallen.  I saw that my shot had told; but it was not a hard one to make.

“Hold up, man,” I said.  “Why, what do you suppose I am here for?”