"Nay," said Sherebiah, who had him grimly by the collar, "’ee’ll never be _even_ wi’ un, Rafe Aglionby. Your carcass’ll need a longer rope." "’Tis all a mistake, coz, on my honour," pleaded the captain. "Don’t ’ee coz me, I disown ’ee. I’ll see a villain hung; and that’ll be no mistake." "Leave him to me, Sherry," said Harry, "and go and see to the man we hit." A short examination proved that the man Harry had shot was less seriously wounded than he who had fallen to Sherebiah’s pistol-butt. The third man whom Harry had knocked down had escaped in the darkness. The other two, injured as they were, were unable to walk, so Harry had them hoisted on to the horses, where they were held up by Fanshawe and Sherebiah. With Aglionby in his own keeping Harry led the march to Breda. On arriving there, all three prisoners were handed over to the Dutch authorities, and Harry asked Fanshawe to his rooms to talk over this adventure of the road. "Faith," said Fanshawe, when Harry had explained his presence on the spot, "’twas a mercy you had the thought to walk out. But it passes my understanding why that fellow Aglionby should have been minded to waylay me." "’Twas not you, ’twas Sherry that was the intended victim. I told you of the neat way he bundled the captain out of Madame de Vaudrey’s house; that was only one of several affronts the bully has had to suffer. And I rather suspect that you were mistaken for me." "How so?" "’Twas part of the scheme of old Berkeley’s to get rid of me; of that I am sure. And the other fellow, the Frenchman, must be pretty sore at his two discomfitures." "You will, of course, inform against him." "’Twould be little use, I fear. He was masked; I knew him only by his voice, and my testimony would not suffice to convict him on that ground alone." "Did Aglionby say nothing as you walked into the town?" "Nothing. I plied him with questions, but he held an obstinate silence; scarce opened his mouth except to say ’twas all a mistake." "I am not sure you are right. Don’t you think it may have been the Frenchman’s plan—to get rid of me?" "Why of you?" "Well, you told me he is a suitor for Mademoiselle’s hand——" "What then?" "He may have looked on me as a rival." "Come, that’s a good joke. You’ve known Mademoiselle for little better than a month." "Ah! One can see you’re young, Harry, and fancy free; I wish I were. But your Monsieur de Polignac might have spared his pains." "You’re talking in riddles, Fanshawe; speak plain English, man." "Well, ’twas true." "What was true?" "She wouldn’t have me." Harry stared in puzzlement. Then a light dawned, and he smiled. "You don’t mean to say you’ve been on your knees to Mademoiselle Adèle?" "Indeed I have! By George, Harry! isn’t she a splendid creature? But she wouldn’t have me: that’s all over; life isn’t worth living now: I don’t care how soon a bullet puts an end to my miserable existence." Fanshawe sighed lugubriously; Harry laughed.