returned William, turning round, and trying to catch a glimpse at the
fire, as he gulped his brandy and water.

"Then I'll be d---d if I run the risk of calling. I have done some
things in this town by way of business before now; and though it's a long
time ago, yet folks don't forget a haundsome man in a hurry--especially
if he has done 'em! Now, then, listen to me. You see, I have given this
matter all the 'tention in my power. 'If the lads be dead,' said I to
you, 'it is no use burning one's fingers by holding a candle to bones in
a coffin. But Mr. Beaufort need not know they are dead, and we'll see
what we can get out of him; and if I succeeds, as I think I shall, you
and I may hold up our heads for the rest of our life.' Accordingly, as I
told you, I went to Mr. Beaufort, and--'Gad, I thought we had it all our
own way. But since I saw you last, there's been the devil and all. When
I called again, Will, I was shown in to an old lord, sharp as a gimblet.
Hang me, William, if he did not frighten me out of my seven senses!"

Here Captain Smith (the reader has, no doubt, already discovered that the
speaker was no less a personage) took three or four nervous strides
across the room, returned to the table, threw himself in a chair, placed
one foot on one hob, and one on the other, laid his finger on his nose,
and, with a significant wink, said in a whisper, "Will, he knew I had
been lagged! He not only refused to hear all I had to say, but
threatened to prosecute--persecute, hang, draw, and quarter us both, if
we ever dared to come out with the truth."

"But what's the good of the truth if the boys are dead?" said William,
timidly.

The captain, without heeding this question, continued, as he stirred the