"Bah!" he muttered angrily, pausing to knock the ashes from his pipe. "How a woman may play the deuce with a man’s work!" Then drawing from his pocket a small bow of scarlet ribbon, he gazed at it for a few moments with a strange expression on his face, and with a short laugh flung it from him into a corner of the room and resumed his promenade. He was interrupted at length by a loud knock at the door, and at his summons Corporal Crutch entered to say that after diligent search he had discovered the missing pedlar, and that the fellow confessed to having certain matters of import to make known to the captain alone. The corporal had no desire that Captain Protheroe should hear of his first interview with Simon, feeling that his customary acuteness had slightly failed him on that occasion, and after a vain attempt to extract some information on his own account from the sulky pedlar, he was at length forced to hand the man over to his superior officer, threatening him first, however, with dire penalties should he breathe a word concerning their previous encounter. "Bring the fellow in, I will see him," answered the captain, on learning that the pedlar was without. The order was obeyed and the hawker, glancing furtively from side to side, was pushed rather than ushered into the room. "Well, my man," Began Captain Protheroe, eyeing him sharply, "what is your business with me?" "An it please your honour, I have information to sell to your honour concerning the hiding-place of a certain rebel." "To sell to me!" answered the captain sternly. "It is not for a loyal subject of his Majesty to drive bargains with his officers. We do not buy information, we exact it." The manner in which these words were uttered caused the hawker to modify his tone. "May it please your honour," he whimpered, "is there no reward for the arrest of a rebel?" "If your information be correct, and above all of value (which I greatly doubt), you shall have such money for your services as they deserve. Now for your story, and waste no more of my time." Thus driven to a corner and moved as much by desire of vengeance as by greed of gold, the hawker related how he had received the letter from Sir Rupert Winslow, and the information it contained. "Then the ladies know nought of the matter as yet?" enquired the captain. "Nothing whatever, your honour." "But this letter—where is it?" "I—I have mislaid it, sir—but——" "You are lying to me, knave," interrupted the captain coldly. "By Heaven! an I find you trying to deceive me you shall taste o’ the rope’s end before an hour is passed."