“Come,” says Anthony; “is there ne’er a tongue amongst the lot o’ you?”
The man Bargery spoke—I knew his voice, too.
“Why,” says he, “’tis like this: what use is speaking till we know Master Dacre’s plans? Or are we as soldiers that march under sealed orders?”
“Ah!” says another; “well put.”
“Why,” says Anthony, “I see no objection to telling you all that’s in my mind—why not? The main object’s in your knowledge already; ’tis the details that you’re curious about, eh?”
“There might be cutting of throats, and such like,” said another. “’Tis best we should know. Forewarned is forearmed, so they say.”
“Listen, then,” says Anthony. “Faith, I think you’ll say ’tis as pretty a bit o’ contrivance as was ever devised. Sir Nicholas, as you know, has made himself something beyond obnoxious to the Parliamentarians, and I saw a rare chance in that. So this morning I goes to Fairfax in his camp, and professes my devotion to the Parliament, and then spins him a long yarn about Sir Nicholas Coope and his efforts to keep the king’s flag flying over his old barn of a house. And, ’sdeath, lads! I played my cards so well that I got a warrant from him to apprehend my worthy relative, and take him before Fairfax. Here ’tis—there’s Fairfax’s own seal and fist.”
I heard a murmuring growl from the four men, and the shuffle of their feet as they drew near to the table to inspect the paper.
“But——” says Bargery.
“When I’ve finished,” says Anthony Dacre. “Now, here’s my plan: we shall go, the five of us, and apprehend Sir Nicholas, and thus get admission to the house, the door o’ which my pretty mistress keeps so persistently shut in my face. If the old knight calls up his fellows, we must give them as many tastes of cold steel as will suffice for their supper. I have little fear of trouble in that quarter, however.”