d oddly enough, for all
his mistrust of the man, he was inclined to account true the ring of his
words. Joseph watched him with much anxiety and some hope.

At length Crispin withdrew his hands from eyes that were grown haggard,
and rose.

"Let us see the letter that you will write," said he. "There you have
pen, ink, and paper. Write."

"You promise?" asked Joseph.

"I will tell you when you have written."

In a hand that shook somewhat, Joseph wrote a few lines, then handed
Crispin the sheet, whereon he read:

The bearer of this is Sir Crispin Galliard, who is intimately interested
in the matter that lies betwixt us, and whom I pray you answer fully and
accurately the questions he may put you in that connexion.

"I understand," said Crispin slowly. "Yes, it will serve. Now the
superscription." And he returned the paper.

Ashburn was himself again by now. He realized the advantage he had
gained, and he would not easily relinquish it.

"I shall add the superscription," said he calmly, "when you swear to
depart without further molesting us."

Crispin paused a moment, weighing the position well in his mind. If
Joseph lied to him now, he would find means to return, he told himself,
and so he took the oath demanded.

Joseph dipped his pen, and paused meditatively to watch a drop of ink,
wherewith it was overladen, fall back into the horn. The briefest of
pauses was it, yet it was not the accident it appeared to be. Hitherto
Joseph had been as sincere as he had been earnest, intent alone upon
saving his life at all costs, and forgetting in his fear of the present
the dangers that the future might hold for him were Crispin Galliard
still at large. But in that second of dipping his quill, assured that
the peril of the moment was overcome, and that Crispin would go forth as
he said, the devil whispered in his ear a cunning and vile suggestion.
As he watched the drop of ink roll from his pen-point, he remembered
that in London there dwelt at the sign of the Anchor, in Thames Street,
one Colonel Pride, whose son this Galliard had slain, and who, did he
once lay hands upon him, was not like to let him go again. In a second
was the thought conceived and the determination taken, and as he folded
the letter and set upon it the superscription, Joseph felt that he could
have cried out in his exultation at the cunning manner in which he was
outwitting his enemy.

Crispin took the package, and read thereon:

This is to M