“A cup o’ tay.”
“Well, see this package,” said the Spaniard, holding: up a tiny package. “It contains a powder. To-night you must contrive to get it into Budthorne’s cup of tea.”
“It is poison!” said Aaron fearfully.
“Nothing of the sort. Budthorne has been a drinking man, but he is trying to stop. The effect of this powder will be to make him crazy for liquor. Twenty minutes after he takes the powder he’ll be ready to barter his soul for one drink. Then, Aaron—listen closely—you must contrive to meet him and tell him somehow that you can get him a drink. Tell him to step outside the house and come round to the back, promising to meet him with liquor, but state that the stuff is some you have stolen from the widow. Do you understand?”
“I do,” said Aaron. “But what will happen when he comes out?”
“MacLane and I will be hidden there. We’ll fall on Budthorne and carry him off. MacLane is strong as a giant, and we’ll have little trouble.”
“Na! na!” exclaimed Aaron. “It is I that will hae th’ trouble!”
“It is not necessary.”
“What can I say?”
“You must tear your clothes, rumple your hair, cover yourself with dirt, and half an hour after we have carried Budthorne away you may appear and tell how he came outside, you spoke to him, and then you both were attacked by a band of armed men, who struck you senseless. Of course you will not know what has happened to Budthorne.”