“If he did go there, then he _must_ have been killed,” said Jack. “I knew not that, gentlemen, but heard that his house had been robbed of all its plate, jewels, and valuables. Many of the household were killed or wounded in fighting with the robbers, and all was in a dreadful uproar.” “Astonishing,” said Jack. “Here, landlord, more wine.” “And have they any notion who committed this audacious robbery, my boy?” “I heard the butler say he had picked up a sword in the grounds, with the name of ‘Tom Bates’ upon it.’ “T-h-e devil!” said Jack, who now, for the first time, perceived that Tom had lost his sword in the hurry and scuffle of getting away in the boat. Old Bates, himself, felt thunderstruck when he heard this, for, until that moment, he had thought nothing about the sword he had lost. He poured out a goblet of wine, drank it off at a draught to drown his rising anger. “What else did they discover?” Jack asked. “There is a tall black slave at the mansion, who, by signs and writing, made known to all assembled that there were several crown officers among the robbers.” “Worse and worse,” said Bates. For a few moments no one spoke. The post-boy left the house, and in a short time the house closed for the night. Jack and Bates being good customers, were not turned out when the doors were shut, but remained chatting together. “This is a bad job,” said Bates, “a very bad job for _you_, Jack.” “And so it is for you.” “You will be surely ‘scragged’ for this murder.” “And so will you for this robbery, for they will be sure to trace the sword to you.” “Hang the luck,” said old Bates. “I wish we had never seen the place.” “What must be done?” “I haven’t the least idea.” “They won’t be long before they are after us you may be sure.” “I don’t care what they do, now that Colonel Blood is killed,” said Jack; “he was a deceitful, tricky, devil.” While they thus sat drinking, loud knocks were heard at the door outside. “Who’s there?” asked the landlord. “Don’t open for them,” said Jack, “it’s only some thirsty roysterer returning home.” “House, ho!” “Who are you?” “What do you want?” “Go home, I tell you; the house is closed.” “House, ho! within there; open, in the name of the king.” “The what?” said Jack, in alarm. “In the name of the king,” whispered Bates. “What can it be?” asked Jack; “surely not a guard of soldiers, landlord.” “Yes it is, sir; I have just peeped out of the window. There is a file of soldiers outside, with an officer at their head.” “House, ho! within there! Open, in the name of the king, landlord, or I’ll burst in the door.” “What do you want?” “Open, I say.” “What are your orders?” “To search the house.” “Your name, officer?” “It matters not to you; open.” “I have no one here, I assure you.” “You lie, landlord; you had, if you have not now. Open, I say, once more.” “Your warrant, sir.” “My name is sufficient, old dolt.” “And what is it, I beg you?” “_Colonel Blood!_”