“Well, have the little Duke, if you can win him,” replied Catesby. “I doubt thereof.”
“Trust me for that,” cried Percy.
“I’ll trust you to break your neck in the attempt,” said Catesby with a grim smile.
“But how look you to secure the Lady Elizabeth? My Lord Harrington’s an old fox, and none so easy to beguile. He shall smell a rat, be sure, before you have half your words out, and then you may whistle for the rest of your hopes—and are like enough to do it in the Fleet or Newgate.”
“Kit Wright,” said Percy, addressing the last speaker, who was his wife’s brother, “all the wit in the world is sure not in thine head. Thinkest we shall march up to the door at Combe, and sweetly demand of my Lord Harrington that he give us up the Lady Elizabeth? Why, man, we must compass the matter that he shall wit nought till all be done.”
“You might make a hunting-party,” suggested Fawkes.
“Say you so, Mr Fawkes? You have eyes in your head. We’ll send Sir Everard Digby down to see to that business.”
“How went your business, Mr Catesby?” asked Grant.
“Why, right well, Mr Grant. I gathered together a goodly number of friends to assist the Archduke Albert in Flanders: bought horses, and laid in powder. All shall be ready when the Archduke hath need of them.”
The laugh went round.