Five days later, Mr. Caryll—whose recovery had so far progressed that he might now be said to be his own man again—came briskly up from Cross one evening at dusk, to the house at the corner of Lane where Sir Richard Everard was . He observed three or four fellows lounging about the corner of Chandos street and Bedford street, but it did not occur to him that from that point they could command Sir Richard's door—nor that such could be their object—until, as he swung sharply round the corner, he hurtled violently into a man who was moving in the opposite direction without looking whither he was going. The man stepped quickly aside with a murmured word of apology, to give Mr. Caryll the wall that he might pass on. But Mr. Caryll paused.  
“Ah, Mr. Green!” said he very pleasantly. “How d'ye? Have ye been searching folk of late?”
 
Mr. Green endeavored to dissemble his startled expression in a grin that revealed his white teeth. “Ye can't forgive me that blunder, Mr. Caryll,” said he.
 
Mr. Caryll smiled fondly upon him. “From your manner I take it that on your side you practice a more . It is plain that you forgive me the sequel.”
 
Mr. Green and spread his hands. “You were in the right, sir; you were in the right,” he explained. “Those are the risks a man of my calling must run. I must suffer for my blunders.”
 
Mr. Caryll continued to smile. But that the light was failing, the spy might have observed a certain hardening in the lines of his mouth. “Here is a very mood,” said he. “It is like the before the spring. In whom do you design to plant your claws?—yours and your friends yonder.” And he with his across the street towards the loungers he had observed.
 
“My friends?” quoth Mr. Green, in a voice of disgust. “, your honor! No friends of mine, ecod! Indeed, no!”
 
“No? I am at fault, then. Yet they look as if they might be bumbailiffs. 'Tis the kind ye with, is't not? Give you good-even, Mr. Green.” And he went on, cool and unconcerned, and turned in through the narrow by the glover's shop to mount the stairs to Sir Richard's .
 
Mr. Green stood still to watch him go. Then he swore through his teeth, and one of those whose acquaintance he had .
 
“'Tis like him, ecod! to have gone in in spite of seeing me and you! He's cool! Damned cool! But he'll be cooler yet, codso!” Then, briskly questioning his satellite: “Is Sir Richard within, Jerry?”
 
“Ay,” answered Jerry—a rough, heavily-built tatterdemalion. “He's been there these two hours.”
 
“'Tis our chance to nab 'em both, then-our last chance, maybe. The game is up. That fine gentleman has smoked it.” He was angry beyond measure. Their plans were far from ripe, and yet to delay longer now that their vigilance was detected was, perhaps, to allow Sir Richard to slip through their fingers, as well as the other. “Have ye your barkers?” he asked harshly.
 
Jerry tapped a heavily pocket, and . Mr. Green thrust his three-cornered hat a-cock over one eye, and with his hands behind the tails of his coat, stood pondering. “Ay, pox on't!” he . “It must be done to-night. I dursn't delay longer. We'll give the gentlemen time to settle comfortably; then up we go to make things merry for 'em.” And he beckoned the others across.
 
Meanwhile Mr. Caryll had gone up with considerable . The last letter he had received from Sir Richard—that day at Stretton House—had been to him that his adoptive father was on the point of leaving town but that he would be returned within the week. The business that had taken him had been again concerned with Atterbury the . Upon another vain endeavor to the from a scheme his king did not approve had Sir Richard journeyed to Rochester. He had had his pains for nothing. Atterbury had kept him there, entertaining him, and seeking in his turn to the agent in the business that was toward—business which was ultimately to suck down Atterbury and his associates. Sir Richard, however, was very firm. And when at last he left Rochester to return to town and his adoptive son, a coolness marked the parting of those two of the Stuart dynasty.
 
Returned to London—whence his absence had been marked with alarm by Mr. Green—Sir Richard had sent a message to Mr. Caryll, and the latter made haste to answer it in person.
 
His adoptive father received him with open arms, and such a joy in his face, such a light in his old eyes as should have gladdened his visitor, yet only served sadden him the more. He sighed as Sir Richard thrust him back that he might look at him.
 
“Ye're pale, boy,” he said, “and ye look thinner.” And with that he fell to the deed that was the cause of this, Rotherby and the whole brood of Ostermore.
 
“Let be,” said Mr. Caryll, as he dropped into a chair. “Rotherby is undergoing his punishment. The town looks on him as a cut-throat who has narrowly escaped the . I that he tarries here. An I were he, I think I'd travel for a year or two.”
 
“What weakness made you spare him when ye had him at the point of your sword?”
 
“That which made me regret that I had him there; the reflection that he is my brother.”
 
Sir Richard looked at him in some surprise. “I thought you of sterner stuff, Justin,” he said presently, and sighed, passing a long white hand across his bony brow. “I thought I had reared you to a finer strength. But there! What of Ostermore himself?”
 
“What of him?”
 
“Have you not talked again with him of the matter of going over to King James?”
 
“To what end, since the chance is lost? His betrayal now would involve the betrayal of Atterbury and the others—for he has been in touch with them.”
 
“Has he though? The bishop said of this.”
 
“I have it from my lord himself—and I know the man. Were he taken they'd out of him whatever happened to be in him. He has no . Indeed, he's but a clod, too stupid even to be aware of his own stupidity.”
 
“Then what is to be done?” inquired Sir Richard, frowning.
 
“We'd best get home to France again.”
 
“And leave matters thus?” He considered a moment, and shook his head, smiling bitterly. “Could that content you, Justin? Could you go as you have come—taking no more than you brought; leaving that man as you found him? Could you?”
 
Mr. Caryll looked at the baronet, and wondered for a moment whether he should in the rule of his life and deal quite with him, telling him what he felt. Then he realized that he would not be understood. He could not combat the that was Sir Richard's in this matter. If he told him the truth; how he the task; how he rejoiced that circumstances had now put it beyond his reach—all he would achieve would be to wound Sir Richard in his tenderest place and to no purpose.
 
“It is not a matter of what I would,” he answered slowly, wearily almost. “It is a matter of what I must. Here in England is no more to be done. Moreover, there's danger for you in lingering, or I'm much mistaken else.”
 
“Danger of what?” asked Sir Richard, with .
 
“You are being spied upon.”
 
“Pho! I am accustomed to it. I have been spied upon all my life.”
 
“Like enough. But this time the spies are messengers from the secretary of state. I caught a glimpse of them about your doorway—three or four at least—and as I entered I all but fell over a Mr. Green—a most gentleman with whom I have already some acquaintance. He is the very man who searched me at Maidstone; he has kept his eye upon me ever since, which has not troubled me. But that he should keep an eye on you means that your identity is suspected, and if that be so—well, the sooner we are out of England the better for your health.”
 
Sir Richard shook his head calmly. The fine-featured, lean old face showed no sign of uneasiness. “A for all that!” said he. “I go not thus—empty-handed as I came. After all these years of waiting.”
 
A knock fell upon the door, and Sir Richard's man entered. His face was white, his eyes startled.
 
“Sir Richard,” he announced, his voice lowered , “there are some men here who insist upon seeing you.”
 
Mr. Caryll wheeled in his chair. “Surely they did not ask for him by name?” he inquired in the same low key employed by the valet.
 
The man nodded in silence. Mr. Caryll swore through his teeth. Sir Richard rose.
 
“I am occupied at present,” he said in a calm voice. “I can receive nobody. Desire to know their business. If it imports, bid them come again to-morrow.”
 
“It is over-urgent for that, Sir Richard Everard,” came the soft voice of Mr. Green, who thrust himself suddenly forward past the servant. Other figures were seen moving behind him in the ante-room.
 
“Sir,” cried Sir Richard angrily. “This is a most intrusion. Bentley, show this fellow the door.”
 
Bentley set a hand on Mr. Green's shoulder. Mr. Green nimbly twisted out of it, and produced a paper. “I have here a warrant for your , Sir Richard, from my Lord Carteret, the secretary of state.”
 
Mr. Caryll advanced menacingly upon the tipstaff. Mr. Green stepped back, and fell into a attitude, balancing a short but formidable-looking life-preserver.
 
“Keep your distance, sir, or 'twill be the worse for you,” he threatened. “Hi!” he called. “Jerry! Beattie!”
 
Jerry, Beattie, and two other ruffians crowded to the doorway, but advanced little beyond the threshold. Mr. Caryll turned to Sir Richard. But Mr. Green was the first to speak.
 
“Sir Richard,” said he, “you'll see that we are but instruments of the law. It grieves me profoundly to have you for our object. But ye'll see that 'tis no affair of ours, who have but to do the duty that we'............