“’Tis the Devil that seeketh to make stay of our work,” pronounced Percy—a most improbable suggestion, for Satan surely had no cause to interfere with his servants when engaged in his own business.
“Have we here any holy water?” asked Catesby.
“Ay, there is in the bedchamber,” said Fawkes.
“Pray you, fetch it quickly.”
The holy water was at once brought, and the wall was sprinkled with it. At that moment the tolling ceased.
“Blessed be our Lady! the holy water hath stayed it,” said Percy.
After a few minutes’ pause, the work was recommenced: but it had gone on for barely an hour when again the unearthly bell began its work. Once more the benitier was brought, and the wall sprinkled; whereupon the diabolical noise stopped at once. For several days these processes were repeated, the bell invariably being silenced by the sprinkling of the blessed element. At least, so said the conspirators.
About the second of February, there was another scare. A strange rushing noise was heard on the other side of the wall, from what cause was unknown; and Catesby, as usual the chief director, whispered to Fawkes to go out and ascertain what it was.
Fawkes accordingly went upstairs, and out into the street. A waggon stood before the door of the House of Lords, and men were busy carrying sacks and tubs from the cellar to the waggon. Charcoal only was then sold by the sack; sea-coal being disposed of in tubs.
“Good-morrow, Master,” said Roger Neck, the servant who was superintending the transaction, as Fawkes paused a moment, apparently to look on, after the fashion of an idle man. Roger had seen him more than once, passing in and out of Percy’s house; but he was the only one of the plotters ever visible in the daytime.