The words came from him in a torrent. He felt that he had a real grievance, and, as often with rogues, the possession of a grievance lent him words if not eloquence. But the squire still looking doubtful, Aglionby picked up a stained copy of the _Amsterdam Courier_ that lay on a chair, and pointed to a paragraph giving in French an account, somewhat distorted but substantially accurate, of Harry’s exploit on behalf of Sherebiah. As the old man read it he pressed his thin lips together in vindictive rage. "There for you!" pursued the captain. "’Tis the talk of the town. The youngster is making friends on all sides; he owns a commission in the Dutch army——" "What!" "’Tis true; a booby general got him the commission, and the lubber Grootz pays. ’Tis becoming more and more difficult to get at him; but I have a scheme—a pretty scheme, egad!—that can scarcely fail this time. All I need is a small sum to go on with—rat me, Squire, will you still sneer? On my soul, I——" "Tut, Captain, your skin is surely thinner than it was." "And yours would be thin had ye not your guineas to line it with. Hang me, Berkeley, a word from me——" "Come, come," said the squire quickly, "’tis not for old friends to fall out. You were talking of your scheme." "I was saying that all I need is a small sum in advance—the rest may wait till the thing is done." "And what is your scheme? You do not expect me—no offence, Aglionby—to buy a pig in a poke this time." "’Twere better, maybe——" Aglionby was beginning, but just then a footstep was heard on the stairs. He evidently recognized it. Hesitating for a second he lowered his voice and continued hurriedly: "’Tis one of the men engaged in the job. I will call on you later at your inn. ’Twould be amiss were he to know you had any concern in it." Berkeley looked suspiciously at the captain, but, unable to fathom his embarrassment, he picked up his hat and slowly moved towards the door. It opened in his face, and Polignac appeared. He stepped back courteously to allow the older man to pass. They bowed to each other, with a mutual glance of keen scrutiny. The squire bade Aglionby good-day, refusing his attendance; and as he passed down the stairs Polignac entered the room. "Who is your visitor, captain?" he asked. "An English milord, by his appearance." "Yes; a friend from England—an old friend of my family: a neighbour: in fact, our estates join—or all but, for ’tis but a narrow trout-stream divides ’em." Aglionby’s manner was still a little flurried. His mind was not very quick, and took time to adjust itself. Polignac threw his hat upon the table, sat astride of a chair, and went on with admirable gravity: "And the fishing—it is often, without doubt, what we Frenchmen call an apple of discord. I have known so many disputes." "The fishing! oh!—yes!—well, that arranges itself. It is quite simple: we take one day, he takes the next."