"See that you say nothing of this. You know nothing of that man, that Aglionby, except that you met him on the packet-boat; you hear me? Presuming on that acquaintance he sought your assistance; you have wit enough to remember that? And you are not to go near him again." "Egad, I’ve no wish to. Once is enough. A prison cell is no place for me. I had to hold my nose; and egad, to use a whole bottle of scent afterwards." The old man pushed him contemptuously away, returned to his room, and again locked the door. He picked up the letter, sat down in his chair, and, crouching there, seemed to have shrunk even to less than his former meagre bulk. He read the letter again. It ran:— "SIR, "Fate is against me. In pursuit of the Businesse you wot of, I am at this present layd by the heels, in Jail, under sentence to be Hang’d. Young Rochester & my Cozen have done it. ’Tis nessessarie for you to pulle me out of this Hole, & speedilie, or _I’ll tell All I knowe_. The Meanes I leave to you; I advize to comunicate with Mr de Poliniac at his house in the Plein; he will helpe: he has _Goode Reasone_, for at a Worde from me he’ll _swing too_. No more at this Present from yr humble "RALPH AGLIONBY. "P.S.—I knew your Sonne was in Breda. He _knowes Nothing_." The squire tore up the paper and flung the pieces on the fire. For a few moments he sat in thought; then he rose and went into an ante-room, returning soon in his outdoor attire—wig, cocked hat, and long cloak. A few minutes later he was walking at a brisk pace through the rain towards the house mentioned in Aglionby’s letter. He knocked at the door; there was no answer; the green shutters were closed, the house had the appearance of being shut up for the season. He knocked again, and yet again, with growing vehemence, attracting the attention of passers-by. At length the door was opened for a few inches. Mr. Berkeley pushed it, but it was on the chain. "Qu’est-ce que Monsieur demande?" said a voice. "Monsieur de Polignac." "Monsieur is not within," said the same voice in English, the speaker having detected the squire’s nationality by his accent. "Where is he?" "Pardon, Monsieur, I am not sure where my master is at this moment; but if Monsieur will leave a message——" Something in the man’s manner assured Mr. Berkeley that he was lying. "Look ’ee, my man," he said sternly, "I counsel you to bethink yourself. I will walk for five minutes, in the rain; you will have time to acquaint your master that an English gentleman whose name is probably unknown to him desires to see him on a very urgent matter—in the interest, mark you, of himself. An urgent matter, mark you. In five minutes I will return."