Mornay’s reasons for this were obvious. He wanted a narrow passage, where more than two men would be at a disadvantage, and where all opportunity for outside interference would be obviated. The host himself brought their lights and bottles. When he saw that it was Monsieur Mornay who was his guest, he started back in amazement. “Monsieur!” he cried. “You? I thought--” “Sh-- Yes, it is I. But keep your tongue, Papworth. Is Captain Ferrers here?” “No, sir. Two notes have arrived for him, but--” Mornay glanced significantly at the Irishman. “You think he will come?” “I should be sure of it, sir.” “Very good. When he comes tell him Captain Cornbury and I are awaiting him.” “But, sir, if you’ll pardon me, the Fleece Tavern is no place for you, sir. There’s been constables watching for you all yesterday and to-day.” Mornay laughed a little to himself. “’Tis plain I’m too popular. Listen, Papworth. I did you a good turn with the King when Captain Lyall was killed in your garden. Now you can return me the compliment.” “Yes, monsieur, but--” “I’ll have no refusal.” The man rubbed his chin dubiously while Cornbury told him their plans. When the Irishman had finished, Mornay slipped a handful of coins into his palm, which worked a transformation in his point of view. “I’ll do what I can, monsieur,” he said, jingling the money. “But if there’s to be fighting, the Fleece will lose its good repute forever.” Mornay and Cornbury both laughed at the long face and hollow note of virtuous regretfulness and resignation in his voice. “Ochone! If there has been a duel in yer garden once in forty years, I’d never be the man to suspect it,” said the Irishman. The landlord raised a deprecating hand and disappeared. “The garden?” growled Mornay. “I hope it may not be necessary to carry this matter there.” “But have ye thought? He may not come up to yer room?” “He must--” There was a cautious knock at the door, and Vigot entered, despair and distress written upon his features. “Monsieur! Ill news! There was no room to let at the mercer’s. To-morrow is market-day, and the house is full to the garret. He would not let me even inside the door.” “_Tonnerre de Dieu!_” “And worse yet, monsieur--this place is watched. A number of black, silent figures are regarding it from the shadows--” “Ye have read the man aright, Mornay,” said Cornbury. “_Mille diables!_ We _must_ go by the roof. It is our only chance. Listen, Vigot. Do you go up those stairs and out upon the leads. Curse the fellow! if you cannot get into his house at the bottom you must get in at the top.” Vigot was off again as the landlord entered. “Monsieur Mornay, Captain Ferrers awaits you below.” A quick glance passed between the two men. Mornay paused a moment before replying. “Tell him, Papworth,” he said, coolly, “that Monsieur Mornay has a quiet room upstairs where matters can be privately discussed. I will await him here.” The man departed. Cornbury drained his bowl.