"I must set out at once," he muttered. "But look you, Jeffreys, a word of warning; this is but a passing affair, the work o’ that meddlesome Sunderland, I’ll be bound. I shall soon return, so be careful what you do. I’ve set my heart on this matter"—pointing to the captain. "When I return, an that fellow be not handed over to me for court-martial, then, by all the devils in heaven and hell, I’ll be revenged. You know me, Jeffreys, and you know what I can do. Take warning." He swung to the door, then pausing, turned to Captain Protheroe, and eyed him with a scornful glance. "A narrow shave for you," he said; "but I’ll hope to see you hanged yet, my fine fellow." Captain Protheroe smiled scornfully. "I’m afraid, colonel," he answered drily, "unless our executions take place simultaneously on the same spot, we can’t both realise our mutual hope." With an oath Colonel Kirke swung out of the room, and the door was shut. Then Captain Protheroe turned to Jeffreys. The judge’s face was a study of indecision. He stared moodily at the letters before him, he glanced nervously at the door through which the colonel had retired. He was a man standing betwixt two abysses, doubting over which to risk a jump. At last he raised his head, and faced the captain defiantly. "Captain Protheroe," he said, "I must withdraw your passport and place you under arrest." Captain Protheroe stared at the judge in dismay. The secretary took a rapid step forward, and stooped over his master’s chair. "My lord," he whispered, "think what you do. These letters——" "I know! I know!" cried Jeffreys testily; "but I also know Kirke. ’Tis one or the other, and Kirke is not a man to deny." Again the secretary stooped to argue, but Jeffreys thrust him aside. "No, no, Jewars, I tell you ’tis the safer way. This is the only evidence"—tapping the letters—"and it may be disproved." Then, with a sudden inspiration Captain Protheroe stepped forward, and leaning over the table, fixed his eyes on Jeffreys. "The only evidence, my lord?" he asked quietly. "Tell me, has your lordship ever heard of a certain Master Hugh Peters, of Lime?" "Peters!" gasped the secretary, with a sudden start of horror. "Aye," answered the officer slowly. "A worthy man who can give much valuable information concerning the manner of Ferguson’s escape, about which there has been so great a pother in London. And, my lord, he is not the only man who knows the secret." With a sudden cry the secretary caught the chief justice’s arm; his face was livid, he trembled from head to foot. "My lord," he cried, "there is no help for it, this man must go. There is no safety else. He knows—Heavens! what does he not know? My lord, Colonel Kirke may be dangerous, but he is disgraced, and he hath but little evidence, and ’tis but a matter of bribery after all. But this man—oh, my lord! let him go, out of the country with him, and Heaven grant we may never see him more."