"I take care to examine walls well before I live between them," said Rosmore; "but see for yourself. This curtain hangs before the door of my bedroom, this before a window looking into a side street," and he drew the curtains aside for a moment to show that he spoke truly. Marriott nodded and drank more wine. "We can talk quite freely," said Rosmore, seating himself again at the table opposite to his guest. "There is a woman you have promised to help should she ask you." "No; you are mistaken." "Think, Marriott. The promise may have been made at Aylingford Abbey." "Do you mean Mistress Lanison?" Rosmore nodded his head slowly. "Ah, yes, I did make some kind of promise," said Marriott. "A gallantry, Rosmore, and I would make my words good if I had the chance." "And the bribe?" Rosmore asked. "As you have just said, that can be no concern of yours." "That is not so certain. It happens that you have the chance. Mistress Lanison is in Dorchester--a prisoner." Marriott sprang to his feet. "The devil! Who had her arrested?" Rosmore shrugged his shoulders. "I do not know, but the fact remains, she is a prisoner. This I can tell you, she journeyed to the West to appeal to you on behalf of Gilbert Crosby, and was arrested on the way." "But Crosby has not been captured?" "Don't you think you and I could make up our minds that he has?" said Rosmore. "I do not see the necessity. My influence will have to be exerted to procure her release. I shall have kept my word, and--" "And the reward?" asked Rosmore. "It will not be so great that it will be beyond her power to pay," was the answer. "Shall I make a guess?" said Rosmore. "If your influence is exerted, Barbara Lanison becomes the wife of Judge Marriott. Ah! I see I have hit near the mark. I have another plan. You shall write me two orders, one for the release of Mistress Lanison, the other for the release of Gilbert Crosby. The execution of these orders shall be at my discretion as to time. They may be given because of your love for her, if you will, but you must be self-sacrificing and claim no reward." "My dear Rosmore, if you are serious, your impudence is colossal, if you are in jest, I fail to see the point of it." "I have not come to the point, for jest it is, and one you may profit by. Sit down again and fill your glass--we can enjoy the joke together. Although you do not ask for any reward, you get one--five hundred or a thousand guineas, the exact amount we can decide, but at any rate a goodly sum for two scraps of paper. I should advise you to close with such an offer." "Still the jest does not appeal to me." "No?" "You want Mistress Lanison--" "Released," Rosmore interrupted sharply. "She shall be, but in my own fashion." "In mine, I think," said Rosmore quietly. Marriott rose to his feet again, his face purple with anger. A string of oaths and invectives poured suddenly from his lips.