“Mr. Walker. A word with you on Mr. Rich’s behalf,” and repeated this twice in vain. The street was empty and quiet on the Sunday night and the people at their suppers, but he spied a big hulking fellow at his door, watching him with some curiosity and the Duke marches straight up to him.
“My good sir, I want that door burst in, and there’s a guinea for any man will help me to do it. Are you that man?”
The man grinned and slowly detached himself from the door post.
“What about the watchmen?” says he.
“Why, that I take on myself. ’Tis for the rescue of an innocent young woman.”
“There’s no young woman there. But I’m your man. Come on.”
They set their shoulders and knees to the door that offered but little resistance from age and bad hanging, and in five minutes the way was open. Bolton, halting with the utmost punctilio, pulled out the guinea.
“I recommend you, Sir, to keep a close tongue and prop the door so as it shan’t attract attention. I am the Duke of Bolton. Five guineas more are at your service if you are at mine.”
’Twas agreed, and in the dark he felt his way upstairs, till a rim of light beneath a door stopped him. He put his hand on the catch and walked in.
My Lord Baltimore faced him.