Wogan took the unfortunate man and led him into the parlour.  Then he lit a lamp, and making his captive sit where he could see any movement that he made, he wrote a very polite note to his Most Catholic Majesty the Emperor wherein he pointed out that it was a cruel thing to send four poor men who had never done harm to capture Charles Wogan; that no King or Emperor before who had wanted to capture Charles Wogan, of whom there were already many, and by God’s grace he hoped there would be more, had ever despatched less than a regiment of horse upon so hazardous an expedition; and that when Captain O’Toole might be expected to be standing side by side with Wogan, it was usually thought necessary to add seven batteries of artillery and a field marshal.  Wogan thereupon went on to point out that Peri was in Venetian territory, which his Most Catholic Majesty had violated, and that Charles Wogan would accordingly feel it his bounden duty not to sleep night or day until he had made a confederation of Italian states to declare war and captivity upon his Most Catholic Majesty.  Wogan concluded with the assurances of his profoundest respects and was much pleased by his letter, which he sealed and compelled his prisoner upon his knees to promise to deliver into the Emperor’s own hands.

“Now where is that pretty warrant?” said Wogan, as soon as this important function was accomplished.

“It is signed by the Governor of Trent,” said the man.

“Who in those regions is the Emperor’s deputy.  Hand it over.”

The man handed it over reluctantly.

“Now,” continued Wogan, “here is paper and ink and a chair.  Sit down and write a full confession of your audacious incursion into a friendly country, and just write, if you please, how much you paid the landlady to hear nothing of what was doing.”

“You will not force me to that,” cried the fellow.

“By no means.  The confession must be voluntary and written of your own free will.  So write it, my friend, without any compulsion whatever, or I’ll throw you out of the window.”

Then followed a deal of sighing and muttering.  But the confession was written and handed to Wogan, who glanced over it.

“But there’s an omission,” said he.  “You make mention of only five men.”

“There were only five men on the staircase.”

“But there are six horses in the stables.  Will you be good enough to write down at what hour on what day Mr. Harry Whittington knocked at the Governor’s door in Trent and told the poor gout-ridden man that the Princess and Mr. Wogan had put up at the Cervo Inn at Ala.”

The soldier turned a startled face on Wogan.

“So you knew!” he cried.

“Oh, I knew,” answered Wogan, suddenly.  “Look at me!  Did you ever see eyes so heavy with want of sleep, a face so worn by it, a body so jerked upon strings like a showman’s puppet?  Write, I tell you!  We who serve the King are trained to wakefulness.  Write!  I am in haste!”