"If there is danger, Master Gilbert, call. I have lost some strength with the passing of years, but I have never lost my ability to shoot straight," and he just showed him the butt of a pistol in the pocket of his coat.
Crosby patted him on the shoulder and went to his persistent and uninvited guest, wondering whether Monmouth were really taken, whether this might not be he.
Men still surrounded Lenfield. It was whispered amongst them that, although Monmouth was a prisoner, there was another important traitor yet to capture. They had been told so by Lord Rosmore, under whose command they were. Now they were ordered to draw in closer, and to take anyone who attempted to escape.
"Capture him if possible, but, if not, shoot him down," was Rosmore's command. Then, with a dozen men, he rode across the stretch of park land to the front entrance of the Manor. He made no attempt to surround it in such a manner that those within might take alarm. His men were in the woods, escape was impossible.
There was some little delay in answering his summons, and then a servant came to the door.
"Is your master, Mr. Gilbert Crosby, within?"
"I think he is asleep, sir; but will you be pleased to enter?"
The girl looked innocent enough, but Lord Rosmore was too well versed in artifice not to be cautious.
"My horse is restive, as you see. Will you request your master to come out and speak with me for a moment?"
The girl curtsied and departed with her message, leaving the door open.