"You have violated the laws of hospitality, Mr. Kneebone, I came hither as your guest. You have betrayed me."
"What faith is to be kept with a felon?" replied the woollen-draper, disdainfully.
"He who breaks faith with his benefactor may well justify himself thus," answered Jack. "I have not trusted you. Others who have done, have found you false."
"I don't understand you," replied Kneebone, in some confusion.
"You soon shall," rejoined Sheppard. "Where are the packets committed to your charge by Sir Rowland Trenchard?"
"The packets!" exclaimed Kneebone, in alarm.
"It is useless to deny it," replied Jack. "You were watched to-night by Blueskin. You met Sir Rowland at the house of a Romisch priest, Father Spencer. Two packets were committed to your charge, which you undertook to deliver,—one to another priest, Sir Rowland's chaplain, at Manchester, the other to Mr. Wood. Produce them!"
"Never!" replied Kneebone.
"Then, by Heaven! you are a dead man!" replied Jack, cocking a pistol, and pointing it deliberately at his head. "I give you one minute for reflection. After that time nothing shall save you."
There was a brief, breathless pause. Even Blueskin looked on with anxiety.