Tom. But, hang it, you can trust me.
Bul. (takes his hand). General, I think I can—but I’m sure I won’t.
Tom. But why do you object?
Bul. Major-General Fitzpatrick, had you the password of some leaguered town, and an enemy, armed to the teeth, demanded that word at the pistol’s mouth, what would you do?
Tom. Tell him at once without a moment’s hesitation.
Bul. Then am I made of doughtier stuff. Sir, I hate my employers, I loathe their unholy practices, but—I respect their secrets. Good day; I go to them.
[Exit Bulstrode.
Tom. So it seems I’ve had my head in the lion’s mouth for the last three months without knowing it! Well, well—there is a grim justice in the fact that my punishment will be brought about through the employers of the son of the husband of the mother of the young woman to whom I was to have been married.
Enter Colonel O’Fipp.