"Too late," said Rumsey. "They're ever so far by now. Serves you right, sheriff. Who ever heard of being caught napping when there's work of this sort on hand? Come, now--steady there--come. It's of no earthly use your rattling the bolts about like that. The captain's locked us in." "No, no, he hasn't," said Goodenough frantically, wrenching at the ponderous door till he dragged it half open. "See!" "The mischief seize you!" savagely returned Rumsey, snatching off Goodenough's hands, and banging to the door again with a kick "Not that one. The door, I mean, down at the stairfoot. 'Tis locked, I tell you. Double, triple locked; and you can't get out if you tore your arms off trying." "But never mind," he went on, as Goodenough fell back despairingly against the wall, "don't look so down in the mouth, man; ain't I here?" and with a low chuckle of amusement at the poor man's discomfiture, he flung himself into a chair, and thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, sat watching through his half-closed eyelids every movement of his companion, who retreated slowly to a chair standing farthermost from Rumsey, and sat down on its edge, looking the very picture of wretchedness and despondency. "'Tis too bad," he said shiveringly, "I wish I hadn't come. I wish I'd never--" Then he stopped short. "Well?" sharply interrogated Rumsey, fixing the unfortunate man's wandering glances with the steady, piercing, snakelike glitter of his own. "Say on, sheriff, out with it; you wish you'd never--joined this conspir--this society; is that it?" [Sidenote: A faltering tongue.] "I said nothing of the sort, Master Rumsey," faltered Goodenough. "But I--I--I do say--h'm. No matter;" and as his eyes followed Rumsey's, which were fixed on the dagger upon the table, he relapsed into silence. "On the contrary," said Rumsey in calm hard tones, "'tis very great matter. Our noble association brooks no sticklers, nor cowards neither. What were you going to say?" "That I hope there's not going to be any--any blood-spilling," said Goodenough in a steadier voice. "Whose blood?" laughed Rumsey. "Charles's, do you mean?" "Ah, heaven forbid!" fervently ejaculated Goodenough, "and forgive us the bare thought. Of the guards, I meant, or of any with him." "That they must take their risk of, pretty dears," sneered Rumsey, "so long only as we secure our Blackbird, and our Chaffinch." [Sidenote: Murderous plans.] "Ay, ay," sighed Goodenough. "Well, 'tmust be chanced, I suppose, as you say, colonel; and perhaps if it comes to't, the sacrifice of a man's life will be forgiven by Providence, so only as we can succeed in bringing his majesty to our way of thinking, and make our Protestant religion safe from these popish scoundrels; and bind him to appoint a real true Church of England king to come after him." "Instead of the Chaffinch." "The Duke of York must certainly be set aside, if it be true indeed that he is a Papist at heart."