I wouldna
wonder but one might catch the scarlet fever gin he werena carefu', so I
just took a change of names for a bit while."

"You did not disguise the Highland slogan you flung out last night," I
laughed.

"Did I cry it?" he asked. "It would be just from habit then. I didna ken
that I opened my mouth." Then he turned to my affairs. "And I suppose you
will be for striking a blow for the cause like the rest of us. Well then,
the sooner the better. I am fair wearying for a certain day that is near
at hand."

With which he began to hum "The King shall have his own again."

I flushed, and boggled at the "No!" that stuck in my throat. Creagh,
standing near, slewed round his head at the word.

"Eh, what's that? Say that again, Montagu!"

I took the bull by the horns and answered bluntly, "There has been a
mistake made. George is a good enough king for me."

I saw Macdonald stiffen, and angry amazement leap to the eyes of the two
Irishmen.

"'Sblood! What the devil! Why are you here then?" cried Creagh.

His words, and the excitement in his raised voice, rang the bell for a
hush over the noisy room. Men dropped their talk and turned to us. A score
of fierce suspicious eyes burnt into me. My heart thumped against my ribs
like a thing alive, but I answered--steadily and quietly enough, I dare
say--"You will have to ask Lord Balmerino that. I did not know where he
was bringing me."

"Damnation!" cried one Leath. "What cock and bull tale is this? Not know
where he was bringing you! 'Slife, I do not like it!"

I sat on the table negligently dangling one foot in air. For that matter I
didn't like it myself, but I was not going to tell him so. Brushing a
speck of mud from my coat I answered carelessly,

"Like it or mislike it, devil a bit I care!"

"Ha, ha! I theenk you will find a leetle reason for caring," said the
Frenchman ominously.

"Stab me, if I understand," cried Creagh. "Balmerino did not kidnap you
here, did he? Devil take me if it's at all clear to me!"

O'Sullivan pushed to the front with an evil laugh.

"'T is clear enough to me," he said bluntly. "It's the old story of one
too many trusted. He hears our plans and then the smug-faced villain
peaches. Next week he sees us all scragged at Tyburn. But he's made a
little mistake this time, sink me! He won't live to see the Chevalier
O'Sullivan walk off the cart. If you'll give me leave, I'll put a name to
the gentleman. He's what they call a spy, and