"But surely--surely, sir, you cannot be doing this in any hope to recover what he already owes you! That were indeed to throw the helve after the hatchet. Nay, sir, it were madness--stark madness!" My father glanced at my uncle Gervase, who stood pulling his lip; then, with an abrupt motion, he turned on Mr. Knox again. "You have seen him? You delivered my letter?" "I did." "What was his answer?" Mr. Knox shrugged his shoulders. "He jumped at it, of course." "And the boy, here! What did he say about the boy?" "Well, to speak truth, Sir John, he seemed passably amused by the whole business. The fact is, prison has broken him up. A fine figure he must have been in his time, but a costly one to maintain . . . as tall as yourself, Sir John, if not taller; and florid, as one may say; the sort of man that must have exercise and space and a crowd to admire him, not to mention wine and meats and female society. The Fleet has broken down all that. Even with liberty I wouldn't promise him another year of life; and, unless I'm mistaken, he knows his case. A rare actor, too! It wouldn't surprise me if he'd even deceived himself. But the mask's off. Your offer overjoyed him; that goes without saying. In spite of all your past generosity, this new offer obviously struck him for the moment as too good to be true. But I cannot say, Sir John, that he made any serious effort to keep up the imposture or pretend that the security which he can offer is more than a sentimental one. Not to put too fine a point on it, he ordered in a couple of bottles of wine at my expense, and over the second I left him laughing." My father frowned. "And yet this man, Mr. Knox, is an anointed king." "Of Corsica!" Mr. Knox shrugged his shoulders. "You may take my word for it, he's an anointed actor." "One can visit him, I suppose?" "At the most the turnkey will expect five shillings. Oh dear me yes! For a crowned head he's accessible." My father took me by the arm. "Come along, then, child. And you, Gervase, get your business through with Mr. Knox and follow us, if you can, in half an hour. You"--he turned to Billy Priske--"had best come with us. 'Tis possible I may need you all for witnesses." He walked me out and downstairs and through the lodge gateway; and so under Temple Bar again and down Fleet Street through the throng; till near the foot of it, turning up a side street out of the noise, we found ourselves in face of a gateway which could only belong to a prison. The gate itself stood open, but the passage led to an iron-barred door, and in the passage--which was cool but indescribably noisome--a couple of children were playing marbles, with half a dozen turnkeys looking on and (I believe) betting on the game. My father sniffed the air in the passage and turned to me. "Gaol-fever," he announced. "Please God, child, we won't be in it long."