'With all my heart,' said the puzzled Sam, hospitably opening a cupboard in his bookcase, whence he lugged out glasses and a bottle of Florence. Then he put list shoes over his own, and stole forth on his errand like a clerical cat. All this while Wogan had said not one word to Kelly, nor Kelly to Wogan. Mr. Wogan had sat down to sample the bottle, and Kelly stared at him. 'How did you make your way in here?' he asked at length. 'Old Jeffrey,' said Wogan airily. 'I drink Old Jeffrey's health, wherever he is.' 'I believe you are the devil himself. That password is known to no mortal but Mr. Wesley and me. The Bishop does not know it. His servants never see me come or go--only Sam. Whence got you the word?' Mr. Wogan very gently tapped 1--2, 3, 4, 5, 6--7 on the table. 'I know many things,' he said. 'But, George, what do _you_ know?' 'I know you should be aboard, Nick, and down to the waterside you step from this house.' 'I am already promised,' said Mr. Wogan with an air of fashion. 'I sup with Lady Oxford.' 'You are mad.' 'Nay, _you_ are mad. I know many things. When you were carried hither in your chair, you knew nothing. George, what did the Bishop tell you? Why was he wroth with you? In brief, George, what do you know?' 'The Bishop angry with me! Nick, you know too much. You are the devil.' 'I want to know a great deal more. Come, unpack, and then it is my turn. But first step into Mr. Wesley's bedchamber and wash these hands, which go very ill with silver shoulder-knots; and pour the blackened water out of window. Any man or messenger could see that you have been burning a mort of papers.' Mr. Kelly hastily adopted Mr. Wogan's precautions. When he entered the room again the conspirator had vanished, the clerical beau remained. 'Now,' said Wogan, 'you are fit to carry out your worldly design of pleasure, and I shall not be ashamed to sup in your company at Lady Oxford's.' 'I have changed my mind; I shall not go. But, Nick, how did you know my mind? 'Twas the last of minds you expected to take me in.' 'I am the devil. Have you not guessed it yourself?' replied Mr. Wogan, who was enjoying himself hugely. Perhaps it was the Florence, coming a-top of the Burgundy. He was quite easy about the discovery. 'But unpack,' he said. 'What befell you with the Bishop?' 'He received me oddly. The room was as dark as a wolf's mouth, being hung with black bombazine. There was a low fire in a brazier, that shone red on his Lordship's polished poll, for he wore no perruque. His eyes blazed, his teeth grinned white. I was put in mind of a fierce old black panther in the French King's gardens.' 'Remote from the apostolic,' said Mr. Wogan. 'So were his first words,' said Kelly: '"You Irish dog, come here!" quoth the Bishop.