"But it's in the proclamation published last January."

"I... I can't read, sir. I... I didn't know."

"Faugh!" The messenger withered him with his disdain.

"Well, now you're informed. See to it that you are at the
Secretary's office before noon with the ten pounds surety into which
you are obliged to enter."

The pompous officer departed, leaving Nuttall in a cold perspiration
despite the heat of the morning. He was thankful that the fellow
had not asked the question he most dreaded, which was how he, a
debtor, should come by the money to buy a wherry. But this he knew
was only a respite. The question would presently be asked of a
certainty, and then hell would open for him. He cursed the hour in
which he had been such a fool as to listen to Peter Blood's chatter
of escape. He thought it very likely that the whole plot would be
discovered, and that he would probably be hanged, or at least branded
and sold into slavery like those other damned rebels-convict, with
whom he had been so mad as to associate himself. If only he had
the ten pounds for this infernal surety, which until this moment
had never entered into their calculations, it was possible that the
thing might be done quickly and questions postponed until later.
As the Secretary's messenger had overlooked the fact that he was a
debtor, so might the others at the Secretary's office, at least for
a day or two; and in that time he would, he hoped, be beyond the
reach of their questions. But in the meantime what was to be
done about this money? And it was to be found before noon!