“Let those who have kindled them extinguish them,” replied Heydocke, sullenly. “I will not raise hand more.”
“Who are the incendiaries?” demanded Fawkes.
“The pursuivant and his myrmidons,” replied Heydocke. “They came here to-night; and after ransacking the house under pretence of procuring further evidence against my master, and carrying off everything valuable they could collect—plate, jewels, ornaments, money, and even wearing-apparel,—they ended by locking up all the servants,—except myself, who managed to elude their vigilance,—in the cellar, and setting fire to the stables.”
“Wretches!” exclaimed Humphrey Chetham.
“Wretches, indeed!” repeated the steward. “But this is not all the villany they contemplate. I had concealed myself in the store-room, under a heap of lumber, and in searching for me they chanced upon a barrel of gunpowder—”
“Well!” interrupted Guy Fawkes.
“Well, sir,” pursued Heydocke, “I heard the pursuivant remark to one of his comrades, 'This is a lucky discovery. If we can't find the steward, we'll blow him and the old house to the devil.' Just then, some one came to tell him I was hidden in the stables, and the whole troop adjourned thither. But being baulked of their prey, I suppose, they wreaked their vengeance in the way you perceive.”
“No doubt,” rejoined Humphrey Chetham. “But they shall bitterly rue it. I will myself represent the affair to the Commissioners.”
“It will be useless,” groaned Heydocke. “There is no law to protect the property of a Catholic.”
“Where is the barrel of gunpowder you spoke of?” asked Guy Fawkes, as if struck by a sudden idea.