“Ah!” said my Lord; and I strolled to the window whilst he read the letter.

When I turned to front him again he was all affability; and I knew I was safe—­for the time, at least.

“The major commends you highly as a good man and a true, Captain Ireton,” he said, and truly the letter did contain a warm-hearted commendation of “the bearer,” whose name, for safety’s sake, was omitted; and not only this, but the writer desired to have his man back again.  Then my Lord added:  “You are here to take your old service again, I assume?”

I hesitated.  There be things that even a spy may balk at; and the taking of the oath of allegiance to the other side I conceived to be one of them.  So I said: 

“I have worn many uniforms since I doffed that of King George, my Lord, and—­”

He laughed cheerily. “‘But me no buts,’ Captain Ireton; once an Englishman, always an Englishman, you know.  I shall assign you to duty in my own family.”

At this I made a bold stroke.  “Let it be then as an officer of her Apostolic Majesty’s service, and your Lordship’s guest for the time.  Believe me, it is thus I may best serve your—­ah—­the cause.”

“As how?” he would ask.

I smiled and touched the braided jacket of my hussar uniform.

“As an Austrian officer on a tour of observation in the campaign I may go and come where others may not, and see and hear things which your Lordship may wish to know.  Does your Lordship take me?”

He laughed and rose and clapped me on the shoulder.

“You may call the guard now, Captain, and I will turn you over—­not to a firing squad, but to the tender mercies of our old rascal host who is a ‘trimmer’ of the devil’s own school.  If he tries to screw a penny’s pay out of you, as he is like to, put him in arrest.”

“It is your Lordship’s meaning that I should be quartered here?—­in this house?” I gasped.

“And why not?  Ah, my good Captain of Hussars, I have made you my honorary aide-de-camp and a member of my family so that I may keep an eye on you. Comprenez-vous?”

He said it with a laugh and another hearty hand-clap on my shoulder, and I would fain take it for a jest.  Yet there be playful gibes that hint at gibbets; and I may confess to you here, my dears, that I left my Lord’s presence with the conviction that my acquittal was but a reprieve conditioned upon the best of future good behavior.  So it took another turn of the audacity screw to tune me up for the battle royal with Gilbert Stair and the pettifogger, Owen Pengarvin.

XXXV

IN WHICH I FIGHT THE DEVIL WITH FIRE

With the house guard for a guide I found my host in a box-like den below stairs; a room with a writing-table, two chairs and a great iron strong-box for its scanty furnishings.

The old man was sitting at the table when I looked in, his long nose buried in a musty parchment deed.  The light from the single small window was none too good, but it sufficed to help him recognize me at a glance, despite the hussar uniform.  In a twinkling he put the breadth of the oaken table between us, hurled the parchment deed into the open strong-box, slammed to the cover and gave a shrill alarm.