"My father talks of war with Spain," Richard said. "He says Walsingham looks keenly for it." "A cup to the happy day!" Beauvallet said. Frobisher struck in to inquire of Beauvallet's plans; Master Davys, aroused from a dish of eels, struck the table with his clenched fist, and loudly bade Beauvallet sail with him to the North-West passage. Beauvallet turned it off with a laugh, and gave Frobisher an evasive answer. Drake looked sideways again. But it was not until much later, when these two sat alone in the empty room, over a fire of sea-coal, that Drake put his question. Then he puffed at his long pipe, and stretched his massive legs out before him, and looked up at Beauvallet out of his narrow, all-seeing eyes. "What devilment, Nick? Let me have it." Beauvallet brought his quick gaze up from the red heart of the fire, and looked challengingly. "Why must I needs have devilment in mind?" Drake pointed the stem of his pipe. "I know you, Nick, d'ye see? You've not given me the full sum of it, but Martin jumped your fine secret for you." So he had it then, in a few graphic words. It made his jaw drop a little, but it made him twinkle too. "Pretty, very pretty!" he said. "But what now?" "I shall go to Spain to fetch her," answered Sir Nicholas, in much the same tone as he would have said he would go to Westminster. At that Drake let out a mighty echoing laugh. "God amend all!" He sobered suddenly, and leaning forward took Beauvallet's arm in a strong hold. "Look you. Nick, ha' done. Art too good a man to be lost." The gleaming blue eyes met those long grey ones for an instant. "Do you think I shall be lost then?" Drake twisted his beard upwards, and chewed the end of it. "Well, you're human." His shoulders began to shake again. "Ho, pull me Philip's long nose, Nick, if ye see his Satanic Majesty! You would come safe out of hell, I dare swear. But how to come into Spain? Your smuggling port?" "Nay, I had thought of it, but it's to court exposure. I must have papers to show at need. The plague is on it we have no ambassador in Madrid to-day." "English papers would never serve," Drake said. "You're frustrated at the very outset. Go to, put the folly aside." "Not I, by God! I shall try my fortune with my French kinsmen." "God's Death, have you any?" "A-many. One in particular would be glad to serve me for old times sake, I believe. The Marquis de Belrémy, with whom I travelled many leagues on the Continent, years ago. Ay, and we saw some scrapes together, God wot!" He laughed softly, remembering. "If he can put me in the way to get French papers, well. If not--I shall still find a way." Drake puffed in silence for a moment. "And a license to travel over seas, Master Madman. Letters of Marque won't serve for this emprise. It's in my mind the Queen may have other plans for you than to lose you in a hare-brained venture to Spain." "Trust me to get a license. If the Queen will not, think you Walsingham would be so nice?"