“Trick!” says she, “anything daring? Aught with a spice about it? Now, Bab, let’s have it!”
“It is my intention to kidnap my good friend Corporal Flickers,” I replied.
“Kidnap Corporal Flickers,” cries he, in a voice of pregnant admiration. “Why, Bab, your heart is big enough for five. Bravo!”
“At six o’clock to-morrow evening he is to take that paper, ride to York, and catch the London mail,” says I. “But he will not get beyond our gate-house, for everything is to be most excellently planned.”
“And you will perhaps be wanting my assistance,” says he, keenly.
“Very probable indeed,” says I to pacify him somewhat, though I did not intend to risk his safety in the matter.
Thus by fair words, devices, and appeals he was prevailed upon to sit in peace, and for the present to let things pursue their courses. Much as I rejoiced in this, however, I was angry with myself for being such a tender sort of fool. For the moment, though, a more instant matter filled my thoughts. Such a nicety of performance was required in this new affair that fearing the least miscarriage, I directed my personal attention to it. Habiting myself for an evening stroll, I stepped into the heavy bitter night, winter though it was, went softly down the drive, and demanded admittance at the gate-house door.
William Goodman was the keeper and lived there, a widower, with John, his son, a sturdy six-foot yokel. They made a pair whom Heaven might have created especially for my business. They sat in the gate-house kitchen at a meal of beef and ale. William Goodman—sly, ancient, lean—was a man of sense, and proved it by being faithful as a dog to the family he had served for forty years. He had only been once before the Justices, and the occasion was when he had cracked the sconce of a man who had contumeliously hinted within William’s hearing that my Lord of Long Acre was not so handsome a nobleman as the Duke of Marlborough. After they had received me with the most horrible embarrassment, and Goodman, the younger, had had the misfortune to turn a jug of ale into his lap, I sat down and explained my mission as succinctly as I could.
“Have you a coal-hole under this kitchen?” I began.
“Yes, my lady,” said the elder.