He had slipped the ribbon round his neck again when there was a hasty knock at the door, and when he opened it Lord Grey entered the room quietly.
"I am glad to see you have not retired, Mr. Crosby. King Monmouth is afraid for you. Ferguson, a good man but a fanatic, is set upon detaining you at Bridgwater—has, perhaps, more sinister designs. He plots on his own account in this matter to take you in the morning, so you must needs leave to-night."
"I would rather stay and settle the score with Ferguson," said Crosby.
"One man, while Ferguson has a dozen enthusiasts at his back! It is impossible. Besides, Monmouth commands, and, in Bridgwater at least, his word is law."
"I will go," Crosby answered.
Grey led the way down numerous small passages and short flights of narrow steps until a small door was reached.
"Your horse is here, but I will walk with you through the town. We can understand men coming in, we do not understand men going out."
"I have already said I should prefer to stay and face Ferguson in the morning," Crosby returned.
Grey laughed.
"His rage will be wonderful to behold, but you must not be there to see it. He will fling texts of damnation after you, which, had they power to kill, would certainly prevent you reaching the end of your journey. His knowledge of such passages in the Bible is wonderful."