"Look here," he cried presently. "I will admit you are a clever fellow, Trevanion. It is a compliment you paid me, and I will return it. I will not pretend that I came here out of pure desire to set you free. I did not. But I can set you free!" "Undoubtedly." "And I will--if you, that is, if you make it worth while." "You wish to bargain with me, I know," was my answer; "why did you not say so at first? But a bargain assumes _quid pro quo_." "Well, I'll give you as much as you give me." "What will you give?" "Your liberty." "And what do you require?" He hesitated a second, and then he spoke in his old measured way. "First, I require to know where Mistress Nancy Molesworth is now. Second, I wish you to tell me your reasons for taking her away from Endellion. Third, I desire to be informed of all you know concerning that lady." It was in the last question that my interest particularly lay. For, as the readers of this history know, I myself was in almost total ignorance of the things he desired to know. It is true, if I told him of my conversation with Peter Trevisa and his son, he would form his own surmises concerning Peter's plans, but even then I doubted if I should impart the information he wanted. "You must surely know more about Mistress Nancy than I," I replied evasively. "Did your father not take her at the death of her father? Did he not send her to France? Did you not receive her at Endellion a few months ago? What, then, should there be for me to impart?" "You know," he answered; "be frank with me. You were with her alone for many hours, and she told you many things." "True, she told me many things," I replied; "but concerning what do you wish me to speak?" Again he hesitated. I saw that he was afraid lest he might betray himself, and this was what I desired him to do. "What do you know of her parentage, her father and mother's marriage? What of her father's will?" "Was there a will?" I said at a venture, because I saw that it was by an effort that he mentioned it. His face turned pale. Evidently I had touched a sore spot. My heart gave a bound, for I connected his question with the remark the priest had let fall at Padstow and Peter Trevisa's desire to get the maid at Treviscoe. "Come, Trevanion," he said again, "let us be frank." "Yes," I replied; "let us be frank. At present it is you who ask all the questions, while you give no information yourself." "I have offered to pay you for your information," he said. "I have offered you your liberty." "True," I answered, "you have offered it; but what assurance have I that you would fulfil your promise? I would not trust you as far as I could throw a bull by the horns. You have asked me many questions. By answering them I should place a great deal of power in your hands. Directly I told you all that you desire to know, you would leave Launceston and act on the information I have given; then when I am tried, what proof have I that you will tell the truth?"