“Did that happen to you?”
“To no one else. And why? Because I knew more than it was thought fitting I should know. Because I had seen things. Because I had heard things. Because if I told the half of it, I’d be putting ropes about the necks of a dozen or more.”
“I WALKED INTO A NEST
OF KING’S MEN”
George laughed. “More than likely it was some sort of a rough joke that your visitor was enjoying at your expense,” said he.
Again the ire of the smith began to mount.
“Joke?” cried he. “Joke, is it? You know nothing of me, me lad, or you’d be sure no man would play the merry Andrew in that style with me. And maybe you think,” here he pointed one challenging finger at George, “that it was a joke that I see carried on that same night, only a bit earlier, at the ‘Wheat Sheaf’?”
“What was that?” asked George, allowing quite a tone of scepticism to creep into his voice.
The Celt recognized the doubtful tone, and the warmth of his manner increased.
“I made a bit of a mistake that night,” spoke he, trying to keep from flying into a rage. “I opened the door to one of the private rooms and walked into a nest of king’s men, up to their eyes in plotting. And that was not all—in the midst of them was some one that’s supposed to wear an entirely different kind of a coat.”