one, grasping
tighter the hilt of his sword as though the touch of the steel might
calm in a measure his disquietude. "Scarce is it to my liking that
friend Guido hath chosen so----"

His companion laughed uneasily. "He hath a keen wit," replied he, "and
much precaution is necessary that none suspect at the eleventh hour.
As thou seest, good Percy, 'tis a most peaceful region, with few
abroad and no signs of the authorities."

"Peaceful, indeed," replied Percy, casting his eyes down the poorly
lighted and narrow street through which he had come; "so is a
charnel-house, yet one would scarce----"

A second rap upon the door, delivered with increased force,
interrupted the whispered conversation.

"Within!" growled Fawkes, bending so that his lips were on a level
with the keyhole. "Art sleeping, Master Keyes, or----"

The shuffling of feet answered, and a voice nearly inarticulate from
drowsiness demanded in no gentle tones who sought admittance to an
honest dwelling at so unseasonable an hour.

Upon Fawkes replying, the bolt was withdrawn, the door opened a few
inches and the face of Master Keyes appeared in the aperture. The
soldier of fortune motioned to his companions who quickly joined him.

"Good Robert, here, is a most cunning rogue," said he half laughingly,
"having feigned sleep----"

The warden of the door forced a sneering smile. "Faith!" said he,
making way that the others might enter, "'twas such feigning as may
ever come to me when I would forget my troubles, and there be in my
purse no silver to purchase that which is opposed to conscience. What
wouldst thou, Guido Fawkes? that I sit upright in a corner from
eventide till morn that thou be not kept waiting before the door? Ill
was the day when, listening to thy words, I undertook this errand;
thou art fain to wish that I may be blown to the devil by thy six and
thirty barrels of----"

Fawkes hastily laid his open palm across the mouth of the irate man.
"What now?" growled he gruffly, "that thou must cry aloud the contents
of thy cellar? Hast not been paid?"

"Aye," grumbled the man, drawing back, "for sitting over hell! May
those selfsame Spanish hirelings to whom thy powder goeth, be blown to
their master with scant courtesy!"

Winter whispered in Percy's ear: "A pretty trick, good Percy, yet what
more natural than, wishing to turn a penny by furnishing powder to
the Dons, brave Guido should act with much secrecy, so that it be not
seized by