“A bold villain!” cried the King, as he regarded him with curiosity not unmixed with alarm. “Who, and what are you, traitor?”
“A conspirator,” replied Fawkes.
“That I know,” rejoined James, sharply. “But how are you called?”
“John Johnson,” answered Fawkes. “I am servant to Mr. Thomas Percy.”
“That is false,” cried Salisbury. “Take heed that you speak the truth, traitor, or the rack shall force it from you.”
“The rack will force nothing from me,” replied Fawkes, sternly; “neither will I answer any question asked by your lordship.”
“Leave him to me, Salisbury,—leave him to me,” interposed James. “And it was your hellish design to blow us all up with gunpowder?” he demanded.
“It was,” replied Fawkes.
“And how could you resolve to destroy so many persons, none of whom have injured you?” pursued James.
“Dangerous diseases require desperate remedies,” replied Fawkes. “Milder means have been tried, but without effect. It was God's pleasure that this scheme, which was for the benefit of his holy religion, should not prosper, and therefore I do not repine at the result.”