"I do not know," said Sir Griffin Markham, thoughtfully; and laying his finger on his forehead, he paused for a moment or two in consideration. Ere his reflections came to an end, however, there was a gentle ring at the great bell, and all the conspirators started and looked towards the door. The next instant there was a sound of scuffling, and voices speaking in the hall. George Brooke threw up the window, and jumped out into the garden upon the banks of the Thames; but he had not taken two steps when his collar was seized on either side, and he was thrown down upon the turf. "In the King's name!" said a loud voice; and without making the slightest resistance, he was led back into the house. He there found the two priests and Sir Griffin Markham in the hands of the officers, with terror and dismay in the countenances of all. Brooke, however, had by this time recovered from his first consternation and surprise, and turning to one of the men who held him, he said, "May I request, sir, if not inconvenient to you, that you would take your hand from my collar? It is, as you will remark, a Spanish cut, delicately laced, ingenious collar,--most likely to suffer from rough fingers. I would not for the world put you to any inconvenience, but still it would be more convenient to me to have my throat at my own command." "May it long be so, sir," said the man, bluffly, taking off his hand: "I have some doubts of its being so, though." "I am sorry to hear that," replied George Brooke; "it is a part of my property which, being the great channel of communication between the custom-house and the receiver-general, I shall be sorry to see stopped or cut off." "Ha, ha, ha!" exclaimed the sergeant, who had some turn for the dry and far-fetched jests of the day; "I suppose you mean your stomach and your mouth--God send that they may not have a long separation. However, I must do my duty, and carry you to London. We must tie your hands, gentlemen,--there's no help for it." "Nay," said George Brooke; "what there's no help for, must be submitted to.--Did you ever see a pig killed on a scouring table?" "No, sir," answered the man. "I am sorry for it," said George Brooke; "it is an instructive sight. This fat gentleman submits with all patience, because, as you say, there is no help for it; but he has his squeak, notwithstanding. Nevertheless, you will let us have a cup of wine before we go. On my faith, I am both hungry and thirsty; and if you look at the countenances of those three fair gentlemen opposite, you will see that they are somewhat incommoded at the stomach." "Come, come, I can't stay," replied the officer. "You may have some wine when you get to the Tower." "Oh, the Tower!" said George Brooke: "we are to be taken there first, are we?" "No, sir--first to Cobham House," answered their captor.