Mr. Wogan stopped his hand.
'I tell you, Crow, the Affair hangs on your nonsense. We may all hang for it,' he said in a certain tone of voice, which made Tyrell open his mouth.
Wogan read through the ballad, which was full of insults enough to drive any woman mad, let alone Lady Oxford. He knew what a woman wild with anger can do, and blessed his stars that for so many months her Ladyship had not met Kelly, and could know nothing of the inner plot for an immediate rising. Still, she knew enough to do a power of mischief. The ballad was written in a feigned hand, which Wogan did not know.
'James,' he said to Talbot,' where did you get this thing? You are not haunting the fine ladies who pass these wares about? Where did you get it?' he said, shaking the Crow, who had fallen half asleep, as he spoke.
'Got it from my friend Mr. Pope,' answered the Crow drowsily.
'You got it from Mr. Pope! You! Where did you meet Mr. Pope?'
'At the Little Fox under the Hill, down by the water.'
This tavern was precisely the shyest meeting-place of the party, where the smugglers came to arrange crossings and receive letters.
'Mr. Alexander Pope at the Fox under the Hill! Crow, you are raving! What kind of man is your friend Mr. Pope?'
'Who's Mr. Pope? Don't know the gentleman. Hear he's poet.'