Peter Blood gaped at him a moment in consternation. The man was incredible, unreal, fantastic, a nightmare judge. Then he collected himself to answer.
“I was summoned that morning to succour Lord Gildoy, and I conceived it to be the duty imposed upon me by my calling to answer that summons.”
“Did you so?” The Judge, terrible now of aspect—his face white, his twisted lips red as the blood for which they thirsted—glared upon him in evil mockery. Then he controlled himself as if by an effort. He sighed. He resumed his earlier gentle plaintiveness. “Lord! How you waste our time. But I'll have patience with you. Who summoned you?”
“Master Pitt there, as he will testify.”
“Oh! Master Pitt will testify—he that is himself a traitor self-confessed. Is that your witness?”
“There is also Master Baynes here, who can answer to it.”
“Good Master Baynes will have to answer for himself; and I doubt not he'll be greatly exercised to save his own neck from a halter. Come, come, sir; are these your only witnesses?”
“I could bring others from Bridgewater, who saw me set out that morning upon the crupper of Master Pitt's horse.”
His lordship smiled. “It will not be necessary. For, mark me, I do not intend to waste more time on you. Answer me only this: When Master Pitt, as you pretend, came to summon you, did you know that he had been, as you have heard him confess, of Monmouth's following?”
“I did, My lord.”