“Perhaps it is. We have had a long and successful run of it; but if we had lived a little longer, I have no doubt we should have made ourselves more famous than we are.”
“Infamous, you should have said,” remarked Ned.
“Well, just as you please to word it; it is of little consequence to us now, eh, Bates?”
“Not a particle, as I can see. So they lets us spend all our money in drink and grub, I don’t care what they do with us afterwards.”
“And cannot this Blood be brought to justice?” asked Ned, in a whisper.
“I think not, Ned Warbeck,” said Captain Jack; “he’s a bigger villain than any of the ‘Dozen’ ever were; but, you see, his case is different; he’s a great rogue, and tried to steal the crown jewels out of the Tower, and everybody thought he would have suffered on the block; but, instead of that, the king not only pardons him, but gives him a handsome pension into the bargain.”
“He is a desperate scoundrel,” growled Ned.
“Yes; and for that very reason I’d advise you to have as little to do with him as possible, for when one is a king’s favourite every one must smile upon him if they wish to live in peace and quietness.”
“Good advice,” said Bates, “very, and if the young gentleman follows it, he will do well, and enjoy the title and riches, which, as the descendant of the once famous Edward Lawrence, he will be sure to receive from his natural guardian—old Sir Richard Warbeck.”
“What mean you?” said Ned, in surprise.