He had sought the altar, and that night had written piteously to Hogarth, appealing for fresh friendship and reconsideration of his sentence of dismissal.
So, at any rate, was Harris introduced to Adair Street, became its chief minister, and ten days before the second-reading debate had won, by O'Hara's recommendation, an entrée into the Palace as servant to a gentleman-usher-daily-waiter: and now he made bright the knife of the assassin, tending its edge as a gardener the tender sprout, the knife being his métier and forte, he despising the noisy, mediate, uncertain pistol, nor could use it, his instincts belonging to the Stone Age. But the days passed, and he could by no means get near to Hogarth.
One night he boldly penetrated to the royal antechamber with the knife under his waist-band, having passed the stairs-guard by a specious official envelope. As it was late, he thought it must be about the Regent's bedtime, having the vaguest ideas as to royal ways and bedtimes, Hogarth being then in a consultation with three of the Cabinet destined to last till morning. And Harris: “Can I see the Lord Regent?” with that lifted brow of perpetual surprise and alertness.
“You? Who are you?” asked a gentleman-in-waiting.
“That's neither 'ere nor there, if it comes to that. I'm Captain Macnaghten's man, then”.
“But what is it you want?”
“He told me to give the Regent this 'ere”—showing the envelope.
“Weally! then, give it to me”.
“He said I was to give it to the Regent's self”.
“Then, go to blazes quickly, will you? and let Captain Macnaghten know fwom me that he has been dwinking”.