"Where is Colonel Goring, sirrah?" demanded Chaloner of a man who wore the Governor's livery.
"On his way to breakfast, sir."
Upon this we directed our footsteps towards the Governor's house, where, with little delay, we were ushered into Goring's presence.
Although he professed great pleasure in meeting Colonel Firestone once more, George Goring's delight seemed somewhat too effusive to be genuine. Nevertheless, he gave orders for the paymaster to advance twenty pounds to meet our present needs, and wrote out an order on an armourer in St. Nicholas' Street to equip us with whatever weapons or armour we required.
"You must be our guest for some time to come, willing or unwilling," he exclaimed, "for the force of the Parliament hems us in by land and sea."
"But I must needs hasten to the King's camp," remonstrated Firestone.
"Then your wits must find a way, for a dog can scarce crawl out of the town without being shot at. 'Tis a mystery how you managed to get in."
"Then I'll get out by the same means as I came in," replied our friend stoutly. "But tell me, can you hold the town?"
For answer Goring held up a large iron key which hung from his waist by a strong chain.
"Dost see this?" he asked pompously. "I swear 'fore God that as long as I live the key, which is that of the Town Mount Gate, shall never fall into the hands of the King's enemies."