"I know them very well. Shall I furnish you with a description of their persons?" "If you please;" and as the captain replied to the question, he--perhaps unwittingly--pushed the untasted glass of wine farther away from him into the middle of the large table, where it remained undrunk. After the appearance of Elphinston and Sholto had been fully given and noted in the captain's book, he asked: "And where are these men to be found, Lord Fordingbridge?" "They shelter themselves in the village of Wandsworth, near London, in an old house on the Waterside, as the strand there is called. It is the first reached from the village." Again this was written down, after which Captain Morris rose to take his departure, but my lord's tale was not yet told. Pointing to the chair the other had risen from, he said: "I beg you to be seated a moment longer. There is still another--the worst rebel of all--of whom I wish to apprise you. A priest." "A priest! You speak truly; they are, indeed, his Majesty's worst enemies. A Jesuit, of course?" "Of course. With him it will be necessary to use the most astute means in the Government's power to first entrap him, and then to deal with him afterwards. He should, indeed, be confined in total solitude, forbidden, above all things else, to hold any communication with other rebels." "You may depend, Lord Fordingbridge, on all being done that is necessary, short of execution." "Short of execution!" interrupted the other. "Short of execution! Why do not the scheming Jesuits--the mainspring of all, the cause of the very rebellion but now crushed out--merit execution as well as those who routed Cope's forces and hewed down Cumberland's men? _Grand Dieu!_ I should have thought they would have been the first to taste the halter." "Possibly," replied the captain in passionless tones, and with an almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders, "but at present no Jesuit priests have been executed. I doubt if any will be. The Government have other punishments for them--exile to the American colonies, and so forth. Now, my lord, this priest's name and abode." "He is brother to Douglas Sholto, an elder brother by another mother, yet they have ever gone hand in hand together. Named Archibald, of from thirty-eight to forty years of age. Crafty, dissimulating, and----" "That is of course," said Captain Morris. "Now, tell me, if you please, where this man is to be found. Is he also in hiding at Wandsworth?" "Nay," replied the other--and for the first time the informer seemed to hesitate in his answer. Yet for a moment only, since again he proceeded with his story. "He is disguised, of course; passes as a Scotch merchant having business between London and Paris, and is known as Mr. Archibald." He paused again, and Captain Morris's clear eyes rested on him as, interrogatively, he said: "Yes? And his abode?" "Is my own house. In Kensington-square."