Before Hogan could rise, the door was flung wide, and a tall, gaunt man was hustled across the threshold by two soldiers. His head was bare, and his hair wet and dishevelled. His doublet was torn and his shoulder bleeding, whilst his empty scabbard hung like a lambent tail behind him.

"We have brought him, captain," one of the men announced.

"Aye, you crop-eared, psalm-whining cuckolds, you've brought me, d--n you," growled Sir Crispin, whose eyes rolled fiercely.

As his angry glance lighted upon Hogan's impressive face, he abruptly stemmed the flow of invective that rushed to his lips.

The Irishman rose, and looked past him at the troopers. "Leave us," he commanded shortly.

He remained standing by the hearth until the footsteps of his men had died away, then he crossed the chamber, pa.s.sed Crispin without a word, and quietly locked the door. That done, he turned a friendly smile on his tanned face--and holding out his hand:

"At last, Cris, it is mine to thank you and to repay you in some measure for the service you rendered me that night at Penrith."

CHAPTER XXI. THE MESSAGE KENNETH BORE

In bewilderment Crispin took the outstretched hand of his old fellow-roysterer.

"Oddslife," he growled, "if to have me waylaid, dragged from my horse and wounded by those sons of dogs, your myrmidons, be your manner of expressing grat.i.tude, I'd as lief you had let me go unthanked."

"And yet, Cris, I dare swear you'll thank me before another hour is sped. Ough, man, how cold you are! There's a bottle of strong waters yonder--"

Then, without completing his sentence, Hogan had seized the black jack and poured half a gla.s.s of its contents, which he handed Crispin.

"Drink, man," he said briefly, and Crispin, nothing loath, obeyed him.

Next Hogan drew the torn and sodden doublet from his guest's back, pushed a chair over to the table, and bade him sit. Again, nothing loath, Crispin did as he was bidden. He was stiff from long riding, and so with a sigh of satisfaction he settled himself down and stretched out his long legs.

Hogan slowly took the seat opposite to him, and coughed. He was at a loss how to open the parlous subject, how to communicate to Crispin the amazing news upon which he had stumbled.

"Slife' Hogan," laughed Crispin dreamily, "I little thought it was to you those crop-ears carried me with such violence. I little thought, indeed, ever to see you again. But you have prospered, you knave, since that night you left Penrith."

And he turned his head the better to survey the Irishman.

"Aye, I have prospered," Hogan a.s.sented. "My life is a sort of parable of the fatted son and the prodigal calf. They tell me there is greater joy in heaven over the repentance of a sinner than--than--Plague on it!

How does it go?"

"Than over the downfall of a saint?" suggested Crispin.

"I'll swear that's not the text, but any of my troopers could quote it you; every man of them is an incarnate Church militant." He paused, and Crispin laughed softly. Then abruptly: "And so you were riding to London?" said he.

"How know you that?"

"Faith, I know more--much more. I can even tell you to what house you rode, and on what errand. You were for the sign of the Anchor in Thames Street, for news of your son, whom Joseph Ashburn hath told you lives."

Crispin sat bolt upright, a look of mingled wonder and suspicion on his face.

"You are well informed, you gentlemen of the Parliament," he said.

"On the matter of your errand," the Irishman returned quietly, "I am much better informed than are you. Shall I tell you who lives at the sign of the Anchor--not whom you have been told lives there, but who really does occupy the house?" Hogan paused a second as though awaiting some reply; then softly he answered his own question: "Colonel Pride."

And he sat back to await results.

There were none. For the moment the name awoke no recollections, conveyed no meaning to Crispin.

"Who may Colonel Pride be?" he asked, after a pause.

Hogan was visibly disappointed.

"A certain powerful and vindictive member of the Rump, whose son you killed at Worcester."

This time the shaft went home. Galliard sprang out of the chair, his brows darkening, and his cheeks pale beyond their wont.

"Zounds, Hogan, do you mean that Joseph Ashburn was betraying me into this man's hands?"

"You have said it."

"But--"

Crispin stopped short. The pallor of his face increased; it became ashen, and his eyes glittered as though a fever consumed him. He sank back into his chair, and setting both hands upon the table before him, he looked straight at Hogan.

"But my son, Hogan, my son?" he pleaded, and his voice was broken as no man had heard it yet. "Oh, G.o.d in heaven!" he cried in a sudden frenzy.

"What h.e.l.l's work is this?"

Behind his blue lips his teeth were chattering now. His hands shook as he held them, still clenched, before him. Then, in a dull, concentrated voice:

"Hogan," he vowed, "I'll kill him for it. Fool, blind, pitiful fool that I am."

Then--his face distorted by pa.s.sion--he broke into a torrent of imprecations that was at length stemmed by Hogan.

"Wait, Cris," said he, laying his hand upon the other's arm. "It is not all false. Joseph Ashburn sought, it is true, to betray you into the hands of Colonel Pride, sending you to the sign of the Anchor with the a.s.surance that there you should have news of your son. That was false; yet not all false. Your son does live, and at the sign of the Anchor it is likely you would have had the news of him you sought. But that news would have come when too late to have been of value to you."

Crispin tried to speak, but failed. Then, mastering himself by an effort, and in a voice that was oddly shaken:

"Hogan," he cried, "you are torturing me! What is the sum of your knowledge?"

At last the Irishman produced Ashburn's letter to Colonel Pride.

"My men," said he, "are patrolling the roads in wait for a malignant that has incurred the Parliament's displeasure. We have news that he is making for Harwich, where a vessel lies waiting to carry him to France, and we expect that he will ride this way. Three hours ago a young man unable clearly to account for himself rode into our net, and was brought to me. He was the bearer of a letter to Colonel Pride from Joseph Ashburn. He had given my sergeant a wrong name, and betrayed such anxiety to be gone that I deemed his errand a suspicious one, and broke the seal of that letter. You may thank G.o.d, Galliard, every night of your life that I did so."

"Was this youth Kenneth Stewart?" asked Crispin.

"You have guessed it."

"D--n the lad," he began furiously. Then repressing himself, he sighed, and in an altered tone, "No, no," said he. "I have grievously wronged him! have wrecked his life--or at least he thinks so now. I can hardly blame him for seeking to be quits with me."