Gildoy made a feeble effort to put forth a hand towards Mr. Blood.  “Sir,” he said, “you leave me in your debt.  If I live I shall study how to discharge it.”

Mr. Blood bowed for answer; then to the men:  “Bear him steadily,” he commanded.  “His life depends on it.”

As his lordship was carried out, the Captain became brisk.  He turned upon the yeoman.

“What other cursed rebels do you harbour?”

“None other, sir.  His lordship....”

“We’ve dealt with his lordship for the present.  We’ll deal with you in a moment when we’ve searched your house.  And, by God, if you’ve lied to me....”  He broke off, snarling, to give an order.  Four of his dragoons went out.  In a moment they were heard moving noisily in the adjacent room.  Meanwhile, the Captain was questing about the hall, sounding the wainscoting with the butt of a pistol.

Mr. Blood saw no profit to himself in lingering.

“By your leave, it’s a very good day I’ll be wishing you,” said he.

“By my leave, you’ll remain awhile,” the Captain ordered him.

Mr. Blood shrugged, and sat down.  “You’re tiresome,” he said.  “I wonder your colonel hasn’t discovered it yet.”

But the Captain did not heed him.  He was stooping to pick up a soiled and dusty hat in which there was pinned a little bunch of oak leaves.  It had been lying near the clothes-press in which the unfortunate Pitt had taken refuge.  The Captain smiled malevolently.  His eyes raked the room, resting first sardonically on the yeoman, then on the two women in the background, and finally on Mr. Blood, who sat with one leg thrown over the other in an attitude of indifference that was far from reflecting his mind.

Then the Captain stepped to the press, and pulled open one of the wings of its massive oaken door.  He took the huddled inmate by the collar of his doublet, and lugged him out into the open.

“And who the devil’s this?” quoth he.  “Another nobleman?”

Mr. Blood had a vision of those gallows of which Captain Hobart had spoken, and of this unfortunate young shipmaster going to adorn one of them, strung up without trial, in the place of the other victim of whom the Captain had been cheated.  On the spot he invented not only a title but a whole family for the young rebel.

“Faith, ye’ve said it, Captain.  This is Viscount Pitt, first cousin to Sir Thomas Vernon, who’s married to that slut Moll Kirke, sister to your own colonel, and sometime lady in waiting upon King James’s queen.”

Both the Captain and his prisoner gasped.  But whereas thereafter young Pitt discreetly held his peace, the Captain rapped out a nasty oath.  He considered his prisoner again.

“He’s lying, is he not?” he demanded, seizing the lad by the shoulder, and glaring into his face.  “He’s rallying rue, by God!”

“If ye believe that,” said Blood, “hang him, and see what happens to you.”