“But the Colonel,” said one of the others, “you forgot to mention about the Colonel, Charnock.”

“Why, that is the worst spot in the whole business,” said Sir George Barkley.  “No one expected his stomach to be queasy; but by heavens he’s worse than either the Duke or the Earl.  He did not so much seem to dislike the idea of foreign troops—­though that did not please him—­but one would have thought him a madman to hear how he talked about that very necessary first step, the getting rid of the usurper.  He said, not only that he would have nothing to do with it, but that it should not be done; and he used very high and threatening language even towards me—­at present his Majesty’s representative.  He used words most injurious to us all, and which I would have resented to the death if it had not been for consideration of the high cause in which we are all here engaged.”

“What did he say?  What did he say?” demanded two or three voices.

“In the first instance,” answered Sir George Barkley, “he would not come to the last meeting at the King’s Head; and his first question, when I went to seek him, was, whether the King knew of what we were about to do?  I said, certainly not; that I had a general commission, which was quite enough, and that we had not told the King of an act which was very necessary, but might not be pleasant for him to hear.  With that he tossed up his head and laughed, in his way, saying that he thought so; and that the King did not know what bloody-minded villains he had got in his service.—­Bloody minded villains was the word.—­It is rather impudent, too, and somewhat strange, that he, of all men, should talk thus—­he who, for many a year now, has lived by taking toll upon the King’s Highway.”

“Ay; but I insist say, Sir George,” replied one of the others, “he has always been very particular.  I, who have been with him now these many years, can answer for it, that in all that time he has never taken a gold piece from any one but the King’s enemies, nor I either:  and he vows that the King’s commission which he still has, justifies him in stripping them.”

“Ay, so it does,” replied Sir George Barkley, “and the King’s commission, too, justifies us in killing them.  This gentleman only makes nice distinctions when it suits him.  However, we are taking means to get all his people away from him.  Byerly won’t be such a stickler, no doubt, and five or six of the others we can bribe.”

“Ay, but will he not betray us,” said Sir William Parkyns.

“I think not,” said Sir George Barkley; and unwittingly he paid the person he spoke of the highest compliment in his power, saying, “I rather fancy the same sort of humour that prevents him from going on in the business with us will keep him from betraying what he knows.  But we shall soon see that; and now having said all we have to say, you had better go down, Fenwick, and see if he be come or not.”

During the time that this conversation had been going on, there had been various sounds of different descriptions in the house; and when Sir John Fenwick rose and opened the door to seek the person last spoken of, he was met face to face by Monsieur Plessis, and a maid-servant, carrying an immense bowl of punch, at that time the favourite beverage of a great part of the English nation.