“And are these your plans of which you boasted?” cried the King bitterly.
“No, sire,” replied the contrabandista bluntly. “Your Majesty’s delay has upset all those.”
The King made an angry gesticulation.
“How could I help it?” he said bitterly. “Man, we have been hemmed in on all sides. There, I spoke hastily. You are a tried friend. Act as you think best. You must not withdraw your help.”
“Your Majesty trusts me, then, again?”
“Trust you? Of course,” said the King, holding out his hand, which the smuggler took reverently and raised to his lips.
Then dropping it he turned sharply to the priest and the two prisoners.
“All a mistake, my friends. There,” he added, with a smile, “I see you are not afraid;” and noting Punch’s questioning look, he patted him on the shoulder before turning to Pen again. “Where are your guns?” he said.
Pen pointed up to the loft.
“Get them, then, quickly. We shall have to leave here now.”