“Now, on the other hand, you have the alternative of making a clean breast of your dealings with John Dormay, of how he put you at Lynnwood to act as a spy, how you hid those two letters he gave you in my father’s cabinet, and how he taught you the lying story you afterwards told before the magistrates at Lancaster.  After having this story written down, you will sign it in the presence of this officer and his wife, and you will also repeat that story before any tribunal before which you may be brought.

“I don’t know whether this is a hanging matter, but, at any rate, I can promise that you shall not be hung for it.  The Duke of Marlborough has taken the matter in hand, and will, I have no doubt, be able to obtain for you some lesser punishment, if you make a clean breast of it.  I don’t say that you will be let free.  You are too dangerous a man for that.  But, at any rate, your punishment will not be a heavy one—­perhaps nothing worse than agreeing to serve in the army.  You understand that, in that case, nothing whatever will be said as to your being Dick Cureton, or of your connection with these last coach robberies.  You will appear before the court simply as Robert Nicholson, who, having met Captain Jervoise and myself, felt constrained to confess the grievous wrong he did to our fathers, and other gentlemen, at the bidding of, and for money received from, John Dormay.”

“I do not need any time to make up my mind,” the highwayman said.  “I am certainly not going to be hung for the advantage of John Dormay, who has paid me poorly enough, considering that it was through me that he came into a fine estate.  I take it that you give me your word of honour, that if I make a clean breast of it, and stick to my story afterwards, this other business shall not be brought up against me.”

“Yes, we both promise that on our word of honour.”

“Very well then; here goes.”

The story he told was in precise accordance with the suspicions that his hearers had entertained.  He had been tramping through the country, sometimes pilfering, sometimes taking money as a footpad.  He had, one day, met John Dormay and demanded his money.  He was armed only with a heavy cudgel, and thought Dormay was defenceless.

The latter, however, produced a pistol from his pocket, and compelled him to drop his stick; and then, taking him by the collar, made him walk to his house.  He had asked him questions as to his previous life, and had then given him the choice of going to jail, or of acting under his instructions, in which case he would be well rewarded.  Naturally, he had chosen the second alternative.  And, having him completely under his thumb, John Dormay had made him sign a paper, acknowledging his attempt at highway robbery upon him.

The rest of the story was already known to his hearers.  He had, several times, overheard the conversations in the dining room, but had gathered nothing beyond talk of what would be done, if the Pretender came over.  John Dormay had taught him the story of the assassination plot, and had given him the letters to hide.  He now swore that the whole story was false, and had been told entirely at the dictation of John Dormay, and from fear of the consequence to himself, if he refused to obey his orders.