“He joined the French service, attained the rank of captain, and then left the army; came back to Ireland, and now, sir, stands before you.”
Mr. Basset never changed a muscle of his face as I made this declaration. So unmoved, so stolid was his look, that for a moment or two I believed him incredulous of my story. But this impression soon gave way, as with his eyes bent on me he said,—
“I knew you, sir, I knew you the moment I passed you in the office without; but it might have fared ill with you to have let my recognition appear.”
“As how? I do not understand you.”
“My clerks there might have given information for the sake of the reward; and once in Newgate, there was an end to all negotiation.”
“You must speak more intelligibly, sir, if you wish me to comprehend you. I am unaware of any circumstance which should threaten me with such a fate.”
“Have you forgotten Captain Crofts,—Montague Crofts?” said Basset, in a low whisper, while a smile of insulting malice crossed his features.
“No; I remember him well. What of him?”
“What of him! He charges you with a capital felony,—a crime for which the laws have little pity here, whatever your French habits may have taught you to regard it. Yes; the attempt to assassinate an officer in his Majesty's service, when foiled by him in an effort to seduce the soldiery, is an offence which might have a place in your memory.”
“Can the man be base enough to make such a charge as this against me,—a boy, as I then was?”