“I am,” said Anthony, “but yet——”
“Well, well,” said the man, “I must go forward now. He whom you know as Mr. James Maxwell is a Catholic p-priest, known to many under the name of Mr. Arthur Oldham. He is in sore d-danger.”
Anthony was silent through sheer astonishment. This then was the secret of the mystery that had hung round Mr. James so long. The few times he had met him in town since his return, it had been on the tip of his tongue to ask what he did there, and why Hubert was to be master of the Hall; but there was something in Mr. James’ manner that made the asking of such a question appear an impossible liberty; and it had remained unasked.
“Well,” said the man in bed, in anxious terror, “there is no mistake, is there?”
“I said nothing,” said Anthony, “for astonishment; I had no idea that he was a priest. And how can I serve him?”
“He is in sore danger,” said the man, and again and again there came the stutter. “Now I am a Catholic: you see how much I t-trust you sir. I am the only one in this house. I was entrusted with a m-message to Mr. Maxwell to put him on his guard against a danger that threatens him. I was to meet him this very evening at five of the clock; and this afternoon as I left my room, I slipped and so hurt my foot that I cannot put it to the ground. I dared not send a l-letter to Mr. Maxwell, for fear the child should be followed; I dared not send to another Catholic; nor indeed did I know where to find one whom Mr. M-Maxwell would know and trust, as he is new to us here; but I had heard him speak of his friend Mr. Anthony Norris, who was at Lambeth House; and I determined, sir, to send the child to you; and ask you to do this service for your friend; for an officer of the Archbishop’s household is beyond suspicion. N-now, sir, will you do this service? If you do it not, I know not where to turn for help.”
Anthony was silent. He felt a little uneasy. Supposing that there was sedition mixed up in this! How could he trust the man’s story? How could he be certain in fact that he was a Catholic at all? He looked at him keenly in the fire-light. The man’s one eye shone in deep anxiety, and his forehead was wrinkled; and he passed his hand nervously over his mouth again and again.
“How can I tell,” said Anthony, “that all this is true?”
The man with an impatient movement unfastened his shirt at the neck and drew up on a string that was round his neck a little leather case.
“Th-there, sir,” he stammered, drawing the string over his head. “T-take that to the fire and see what it is.”