by Andrew Lang
CHAPTER XXIII
HOW THE MESSENGERS CAPTURED THE WRONG GENTLEMAN; AND OF WHAT LETTERS THE COLONEL BURNED.
For Colonel Montague was taken in Mr. Kelly's place, as you may seewith your own eyes in his Grace of Dorset's Report to the Lords'Committees, where the informations of John Hutchins and DanielChandler, described as 'two of his Majesty's Messengers in Ordinary,'are printed. These did not chance to be men of a very high degree ofintelligence, as their own confessions bear testimony, in itself afortunate circumstance.
Colonel Montague, when he parted from the Parson at the grove in St.James's Park, walked into Pall Mall Street by the path at the cornerof St. James's House and up to St. James's Street to the corner ofRyder Street, where he turned. Ryder Street, what with gentlemenwalking home on the footpaths and chairs carried in the road, was abusy thoroughfare at this time of the night, and he remarked nothingextraordinary until he was close to his own doorstep. Then hedistinguished, or rather seemed to distinguish--for in the doubtfullight he could not be certain--at a little distance on the oppositeside of the road a man in the blue and silver livery of Lady Oxford.The man was loitering at the edge of the path, taking a few steps nowthis way now that. He was tall, and not unlike Mr. Wogan in his girth.Now, Colonel Montague was aware that her ladyship possessed a lackeyof just such a conspicuous figure.
'For once in a while,' he thought, 'the news-sheet spoke truthto-night. It seems it was Lady Oxford that set the reverend non-juror,for here is her lackey to point him out to the Messengers.'
With this thought urging him to get his business done quickly,Montague walked up to his door and knocked. On the instant, three menran across the road and collared him. The capture was observed by oneor two gentlemen, who stopped, and immediately a small crowd began togather about them.
Montague was prudent enough to waste no time in a useless strugglewith the Messengers, and asked them quietly who they were and whatthey intended. At this moment the door was opened by Mrs. Kilburne'smaid, and the Messengers, lifting the Colonel up, carried him into thehouse. Hutchins, a short, stoutish fellow, who was the chief of thethree men, told the Colonel who they were.
'And we hold a warrant for your apprehension under Lord Townshend'sseal,' he said, and showed his scutcheon and the warrant.
'Not for my apprehension,' replied Montague. 'There is one withoutthere who can speak for me.' For the door was still open to thestreet, and amongst the people who thronged the entrance, he now sawvery clearly the blue and silver livery of her ladyship. The lackey,however, pushed backwards out of range, and since those who wereforemost of the crowd turned about to see who it was that Montaguepointed to, Hutchins took the occasion to close the door in theirfaces.
'You are George Kelly, _alias_ James Johnson, _alias_ Joseph Andrews,'said he, turning again to Colonel Montague, and reading out from thewarrant a number of names by which the Parson was known to the honestparty.
'It is the first I have heard of it,' replied Montague, and he invitedthe Messengers up to his rooms on the first floor, where he would behappy to satisfy them of their mistake. Mrs. Kilburne had now joinedher maid in the passage, and she followed the Messengers up thestairs, wringing her hands over the disgrace which, through no faultof hers, had fallen upon her house. When they were come within theroom, Montague threw open his cloak, which he wore wrapped about hisshoulders, and discovered his scarlet coat beneath it.
'I am Colonel Montague,' he said, 'and an officer under the King aswell as you. If there is work to be done for the King, I shall be veryhappy to assist you. I fought for the King at Preston,' and he made agreat flourish of his services and valorous acts, not being sure thatthe Messengers had reinforcements without, and hoping that Mr. Kellymight enter meanwhile and do what was needful. Mrs. Kilburne's tongueand care for the Parson seemed likely to forward this plan, for, withmany unnecessary words, she declared how the Colonel had lodged withher for years.
'And as for Mr. Johnson,' she said, 'there was such a man who came andwent, but he lodged with Mrs. Barnes in Bury Street, and there youshould go if you seek for news of him.'
But the ten minutes were not yet gone. The maid remained downstairs inthe passage. She was a perfectly honest poor wench, who would haverisked herself for the Parson or for any gentleman in distress. ButMontague, however closely he listened, could not hear that she openedthe door, or any noise in the room below.
Hutchins made his apologies with a great many 'your honours,' and theColonel was no less polite in his compliments upon Hutchins's zeal,which he would be sure to make known in the proper quarters. But stillthe Parson did not come, and Montague could hold the Messengers intalk no longer, though that would have been of little use, as he nowdiscovered.
For Hutchins turned about to Chandler,--
'Go down into the street and tell Lyng and Randall,' he said, 'thatour man is not come. Bid them watch for him at the corner of RyderStreet and St. James's.' And as he spoke he gave Chandler the warrant.Chandler slipped it into his pocket, and ran downstairs to join theothers of his worshipful calling in the street. Hutchins followed him,but remained within, in the passage, to watch the maid of the house,and see that she did not go out to warn the Parson.
The Colonel and Mrs. Kilburne were thus left alone.
'Mrs. Kilburne,' said Montague. 'You must take my word for it, I amMr. Kelly's friend, and without any argument, if you please.' For hesaw that she was on the point of interrupting him. 'There is but onething you can do for him. Send someone you can trust, or go yourselfto lure the Messengers off to Mrs. Barnes's house. But you must bequick, and here's money to help you.'
He filled her hands with the Parson's gold, and she, in her turn, wentdownstairs and out of the house by a door at the back. Montague, forhis part, had it in mind to try whether the like means might notover-persuade Hutchins's zeal. With that design he descended toHutchins, whom he found lighting a candle in Mr. Kelly's room with thedoor open so that he might command a view of the maid who was stillwaiting in the passage.
The Colonel stepped into the room, casting his eyes about for thestrong-box with Smilinda's letters, which he could not see. He saw thescrutoire, however, which stood in the window with the lid closed.Hutchins held the candle above his head and remarked it at the sametime.
'I will search the rooms,' he said with an air of consequence. ColonelMontague was in a quandary. Hutchins had only to throw back the lidand the Parson's strong-box would be in his hands. He had only then tobreak open the lock, and all Smilinda's dainty sentiments about theunion of souls would be splotched over by the dirty thumbs of aconstable. And the Colonel could not prevent the sacrilege unless themoney did it for him.
'Mr. Hutchins,' he said, and jingled the gold in his pockets. But hegot no further in his persuasions. For the name was scarce off hislips when a hubbub arose without. It was a confusion of noise at thefirst as though it came from the end of the street.
'They have taken him,' said Hutchins, setting down the candle andflinging aside the curtains of the window.
The noise was louder, and Kelly's voice was heard, bawling, 'A rescue!An arrest! an arrest! A rescue!' that the rabble might think he wastaken for debt. Those who were gathered in front of the house didindeed turn themselves about, but they were for the most part of thebetter class, and the night-rakers and such-like who might haveattempted a rescue, only came up behind at Mr. Kelly's bawling, fromSt. James's Street, where they were likely to find more profit than inRyder Street. This friendly mob was running together indeed, but cametoo late.
'Yes, they have taken him,' said Montague. Mrs. Kilburne had not drawnthe Messengers off. On the other hand, Hutchins had not opened Mr.Kelly's scrutoire. 'They have taken him,' and the Parson was alreadyunder the window. His sword was gleaming in his hand but theMessengers dragged upon his arms and he could not use it.
Hutchins threw up the window.
'Bring him in,' and he rushed to
the street door and unlocked it.Kelly was hustled up the steps, shouting all the while. He was forcedinto the passage just as the rabble came up at his heels.
'A rescue!' they cried.
Lyng and Chandler turned about and drove them back. Randall sprang inafter Kelly and slammed the door.
The posture of affairs then was this:
Colonel Montague and Hutchins were standing in Mr. Kelly's room closeto the scrutoire and the open window.
Mr. Kelly, Lyng, who was a big lout, designed by Providence for thisoffice and no other, and the maid, were in the passage. Randall andChandler were outside in the street and at their wits' ends to keepback the mob, which was now grown very clamorous.
Mr. Kelly was the first to make any movement. He sheathed his sword,carefully dusted the sleeves of his coat where the Messengers had heldhim and arranged his cravat.
'These are ill times for a peaceful man to live in,' he said. 'Itseems a gentleman cannot walk home of an evening but he must be setupon and cuffed.'
With a shrug of the shoulders, as though the whole matter was amystery, he sauntered into his parlour. His eyes carelessly took inthe room. It seemed that nothing had been disturbed. The scrutoire wasshut, but were Smilinda's letters still hidden there or were they safein Montague's pockets? His eyes rested on the Colonel's face and putthe question. But the Colonel gave no sign; Hutchins stood at hiselbow. Kelly's eyes travelled from the Colonel's face to his red coat.
'One of the King's officers,' he said with a smile. 'In the presenceof one of the King's officers, gentlemen,' he said politely with a bowto Hutchins, 'I take it that you will forgo your ingenious attempt torob me and we may all go quietly to bed.'
He moved as he spoke towards the scrutoire, and again looked at theColonel. The Colonel's face was still a blank.
'We hold a warrant for the arrest of George Kelly, alias JamesJohnson,' began Hutchins.
'Indeed?' replied George with an effort of attention, as thoughfatigue put a strain upon his good manners. 'And why should GeorgeKelly prefer to call himself James Johnson? I cannot think it is thebetter name. Mr. George Kelly lacks taste, I am afraid,' and hestifled a yawn with his hand.
'Colonel Montague,' said Hutchins, who was in some perplexity as towhat to make of Kelly's present indifference, 'your honour promised toassist me.'
Colonel Montague being appealed to, nodded his head.
'Though you will not need my assistance,' he said, 'for here isanother of your fellows.'
Chandler had come within the house, and pushing into the room saidthat the curtains were drawn apart so that the rabble could seeclearly all that happened in the room and were on that account theless inclined to disperse. As he spoke he hitched the curtains to anda volley of curses went up from the disappointed crowd.
Hutchins immediately turned to Kelly.
'Give me your sword.'
Kelly, who knew not what to make of the Colonel's manner, but thoughtit likely he had taken his measures, took his sword by the hanger andhanded it sheath and all to Hutchins, who in his turn passed it toMontague. Montague stood in the corner by the window.
'There is some stupid blunder,' said Kelly, 'which I cannot take itupon me to understand. You talk to me a great deal about a warrant,but I have not seen it. It is a new thing to come taking off gentlemento the round-house in the middle of the night without a warrant, butwe live in ill times.' All this he said with an admirable air ofresignation, though his eyes kept glancing towards Montague, who stilldared give no sign. The Colonel waited upon occasion; his present aimwas to hinder the Messengers from any suspicion that the Parson and hewere in one purpose or indeed were acquainted.
In answer to Kelly, Chandler took the warrant from his pocket andhanded it to Colonel Montague, who read it through.
'It is a very sufficient warrant,' he said, 'and this gentleman may besatisfied if he is rightly named, of which of course I have noassurance,' and folding the paper he handed it back to Chandler.Whereupon Chandler went out again into the street to guard the doorfrom the rabble.
Hutchins then took Kelly's hat, placed it on the table, and searchinghis pockets, pulled out some papers which he had about him, things ofno moment; and these papers he laid in the hat. But to search Kelly'spockets Hutchins must needs stoop. Here was the Colonel's chance. OverHutchins' shoulder, Kelly's eyes again put their question. The Colonelnow answered with a shake of the head. Smilinda's letters had not beensaved, a great surprise and disappointment to the Parson, who ofcourse knew nothing of Montague's mistaken arrest.
Kelly, however, wasted no precious moments in regrets. As Hutchinsturned to place the papers in the hat, Kelly thrust Lyng aside, and,springing to the window, tore aside the curtains and again bawled atthe top of his voice. 'A rescue! An arrest!'
Shouts of encouragement greeted him; the hubbub filled the streetagain. Hutchins and Lyng at once sprang upon Kelly, tore him back fromthe window, and sent him staggering across the room.
'Tie his hands!' cried Hutchins, as he pulled down the sash. 'Knockhim down! Gag him!' and he turned to help Lyng.
The maid in the passage began to cry; the Colonel stood irresolute;the Parson drew himself up against the wall as the two men approachedhim. His Irish blood bubbled in his veins at the prospect of so fine atumble. He clenched his hands. He forgot Smilinda's letter, the Cause,even Rose. His face became one broad grin and in an accent as broad asthe grin.
'And what'll I be doin' while you're tyin' my hands?' he asked. 'Why,just this,' and his fist shot out like a battering-ram and took theworthy Lyng on the tip of the chin. Mr. Lyng was clean lifted off bothhis feet and so sat down on the floor with some violence, where hefelt his neck in a dazed sort of way to make sure that it was notbroken.
'Oh, why isn't Nick here?' cried Kelly, and indeed Nicholas Woganbewails his absence at that festivity to this day. 'Come, Mr.Hutchins, I have the other fist for you,' and he began to dancetowards Hutchins, who called on the Colonel to mark the murderous lookin the prisoner's eyes and save him from immediate destruction.
'Is it destruction you want?' asked Kelly with a chuckle. 'I'llgratify you with all the destruction imaginable.' And no doubt hewould have been as good as his word. But Hutchins, while shutting thewindow had not drawn the curtains, and the rabble in the street hadthus enjoyed a full view of the Parson's prowess. They had roaredtheir applause when Lyng went down, and as Hutchins drew back beforethe Parson's fisticuffs, they hooted the Messenger for a coward andmade a rush at the door. A stone or two shattered the window and avoice was yelling, 'Murder! murder!' in tones of unmistakablesincerity. Chandler then rushed in, his face bleeding, and said thatRandall was being mobbed, and, if they did not come to help him, wouldbe knocked on the head. At this, Lyng, who was now got to his feet,ran out into the street with Chandler. Hutchins remained in the room,but cried out to Chandler that he should go or send for a file ofmusquets.
Now Chandler, when he rushed into the room, was holding the warrant inhis hand, he still held it when he ran out again, as the Parsonremarked, and instantly thought of a plan by which, after all,Smilinda's letters might be secured, and her name kept wholly out ofthe business. Accordingly he ceased from his warlike posture and satdown in a chair. Hutchins took the occasion to draw the curtains andshut out the mob from a view of the room. Mr. Kelly smiled, for he wasjust wondering what excuse he could discover to do that very thinghimself. Mr. Hutchins was helping him very well.
'It is a pity,' said the Parson in a plaintive voice, sucking hisknuckles, which were bleeding, 'that a peaceful, law-abiding citizenmust put himself to so much discomfort because a couple of rascallyMessengers will not show him their warrant.'
'It is under Lord Townshend's seal,' began Hutchins.
'It may be, or it may not be. I have not seen it. I cannot reallysurrender unless the proper formalities are observed.'
Hutchins, who was no doubt well pleased to see the peaceful turnthings were taking and had not the wits to suspect it, replied with anoafish grin that the
prisoner was wise to submit himself to his lawfulcaptors.
'And as for the warrant, Chandler has it safe enough in the street.'
'In the street!' cried Kelly, suddenly flying into a passion. 'Andwhat's the warrant doing in the street? How dare the warrant be in thestreet when it is intended for a gentleman in the house? Upon my wordit would take very little to persuade me that there's no warrant atall,' and he began to stamp and fume about the room.
'Colonel Montague has read it,' said Hutchins.
'I certainly read a warrant,' agreed the Colonel with an impartialair.
'A warrant, yes,' said Kelly in a testy voice. 'But how can theColonel know whether it is intended for me? How can he know whether itis a real warrant at all? You come here with a scutcheon, Mr.Hutchins. But you might have stolen the scutcheon, as you havecertainly forged the warrant.' He stopped in front of Hutchins andwagged his head at him. 'Mr. Hutchins, I begin to suspect you are oneof a gang of cheats come here to rob me. But I will not be your gull,'he cried out as though his fury overmastered him. 'No, nor his worshipthe Colonel either,' and he called to the maid to lock the streetdoor.
'Lock it,' said he. 'Lock the door' and Mr. Hutchins and I will get tothe bottom of the matter quietly.'
That very thing now happened which Mr. Kelly most desired. The maidran down the passage to the street door: Hutchins ran out of the roomafter her to prevent her locking it. Kelly flung to the door of theparlour: Mr. Hutchins was outside, the Colonel and Kelly were alonewithin the room.
'My sword,' said the Parson in a quick whisper. Montague held it outto him without a word: he had no right to refuse it to a free man.Kelly snatched the hilt; the blade rattled out of the scabbard; hestood on guard with his naked blade.
Meanwhile Hutchins and the maid were quarrelling in the passage overthe door key, as Kelly could distinguish from their voices.
He made a quick step towards the window, threw open the scrutoire, andreturned to his station at the door. But he had not so much as glancedat the scrutoire; he had kept his eyes fixed upon the door. Stillkeeping his eyes so fixed, he pointed towards the strong boxes.
'Be quick,' he whispered. 'In the strong box! Take the candle and havedone. You know the hand, and you have the key.'
Montague pulled the key from his pocket, and fumbled at the lock.
'It will not fit,' he said under his breath and swore.
'Be quick,' repeated Kelly.
The key rattled in the lock as the Colonel turned it this way andthat. Mr. Kelly was about to throw a glance over his shoulder when hesaw the handle of the door turn. It was turned cautiously without anynoise. The next moment the door flew open. Fortunately it openedupwards towards the window and the scrutoire. Kelly stopped it withhis foot when it was but half open, so that Montague was entirelyhidden behind the panels from the eyes of any one on the threshold orin the passage. Hutchins was on the threshold peering into the room.But he did not peer long, for at the same moment that Kelly stoppedthe door with his foot he made at Hutchins, with his sword, a pass sovigorous that the hulking fellow leaped back a good yard, crying outto Montague:
'Will your honour let a poor man be killed in his duty?'
The Colonel made no answer to the pathetic question. He was occupiedwith business of another complexion. Mr. Kelly heard a crack.
'What is the matter?' he asked, in a low voice.
'The key is filled with dust, or the lock is jammed,' Montaguewhispered back. 'I have broken open the box with the guard of mysword.'
'Be quick,' said Kelly. 'Make sure you have Smilinda's letters.'
All this while he had not looked towards the scrutoire. The most thathe saw was the shadow of the Colonel thrown on the wall of the room bythe single candle, a shadow monstrous big that held the shadow of apaper to its eyes. It is to be said in Mr. Kelly's defence that hedared not look about him. The door of the room was half open; theMessenger who had retreated into the passage was plainly hardening hisheart for a rush. Mr. Kelly's attention was entirely distracted fromColonel Montague's proceedings at this important moment.
'Yes,' whispered Montague. 'This is her hand, this is the blue-edgedpaper she affects of late. "My own Strephon," and dated two days back.It bids you to her rout.'
The words passed in and out of Mr. Kelly's ears. His eyes wereoccupied with Hutchins, and with his eyes his mind. He did notremember that he had thrust this letter of her ladyship's, as he hadtold to Wogan, into the wrong box, the box holding the papers of theBishop and the King. Then a little flame shot up and illumined theroom, which was at once filled with a smell of burning paper. Montaguehad burned Smilinda's letter, inviting Kelly to her rout.
It seemed that Hutchins had after all no stomach for Mr. Kelly'ssword, which to be sure must have glittered ominously in the dismallight of the solitary candle. He ran back again down the passage andpulled open the street door.
'Chandler,' he shouted, calling his fellow to assist him. A yell oflaughter answered him, and a voice from the street cried out thatChandler was gone for a file of soldiers. Kelly could hear Hutchinsswearing and cursing, though it was himself that had sent Chandler onthe errand.
A second flame spirted up and died away. Montague had burned a secondletter.
'Lyng! Randall!' cried Hutchins at the street-door, but again he wasanswered with jeers, and again the voice called to him mockingly thatthey were gone to Bury Street, where they were told they would be sureto snare the right man.
Montague, who heard everything clearly, blessed Mrs. Kilburne aloud,and burned a third paper. Kelly kicked the door to.
'We are safe, then, it seems,' he said. 'Smilinda's safe.'
He took out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his face,leaning his back against the panels of the door. He could hearHutchins bawling up the street for his partners, and his voice soundedas though he had moved from the door in search of them. So for thefirst time Kelly looked at Montague and the scrutoire.
Colonel Montague had turned the strong-box upside down and emptied thepapers on the scrutoire, so that they lay face downwards. By a scrupleof delicacy, having read the topmost letter to make sure it was LadyOxford's hand, he looked at them no more. He took them up one by one,face downwards, and so burned them separately, knowing no doubt that,lighted in a single heap, only those on the outside and the edges ofthe letters in the middle, would catch fire. One by one he burnt themface downwards at the candle, the secret letters of the Cause. He hadburned three, and he now held the fourth in his hand. He approached itto the candle; he did not so much as look at it. But had he merelyglanced once at Mr. Kelly leaning there against the panels of thedoor, that glance would have surely told him what papers he wasburning.
Kelly did not speak a word, or stir a muscle. He had wiped the sweatfrom his face a second ago, but his forehead was wet now: his eyesstared greedily at the papers: a slow smile, of a knavish kind, thatwent very ill with his face, curved his lips. An extreme temptationchained him; the Devil whispered in his ear, 'Be silent,' and theParson held his peace.
The blue-edged letter bidding him to the rout he had slipped on thetop of the Chevalier's papers, as he had told Mr. Wogan. ColonelMontague was merrily burning the papers of the Plot. Kelly had but tohold his tongue, and in a few minutes he was safe. The Cause was savedso far as the papers went, and Lady Oxford, her letters unburned, waslost. No wonder the key did not fit; it was the wrong key! Kelly couldsee the corner of Wogan's strong-box peeping out from beneath a thatchof papers in the corner of the scrutoire.
All this the Parson saw and understood in the one short moment duringwhich Montague approached the paper to the candle. His mind was tossedup and down in a tempest; the winds of temptation blew hard againstthe tides of his nature. On one side was safety and the King'sinterest, and Rose, who to be sure need never know of the treachery bywhich the Parson had won her; on the other, a broken pledge that hehad given to the Colonel, and the ruin of Smilinda, who had betrayedhim.
Montague lit the sheet of paper and held
it up. Kelly saw the blueflame creep down from the edge, the writing turn brown, the paper curlover black and tattered, with a multitude of red sparks; and still hekept his peace.
Montague dropped the ashes on the scrutoire, and took a fifth paperfrom the pile. The Parson turned away, and laid his ear to the panel,making a pretence that he heard Hutchins stirring in the passage.
'Be quick!' he said first, and then, moistening his dry lips with histongue: 'Make quite sure you have Smilinda's letters.'
'Smilinda?' asked Montague.
Kelly forced a laugh.
'No doubt she called herself something equally pretty to you.'
'Phylissa,' growled Montague.
'She has a pretty conceit in names. Make sure those are her letters,'and again he spoke with an effort.
'Not I. I have had my fill of the lady's handwriting.'
Montague was already holding the paper to the flame, when Kelly's goodangel got the upper hand with him. He is happy now to think that nochance accident, such as the return of Hutchins or the coming of thesoldiers, hurried him into the better choice with a mind half made up.Here was the very occasion of which he had dreamed when he stayedbehind in Lady Oxford's withdrawing room. He could use the weaponwhich her letters put into his hand to save the Chevalier's papers andhimself and Rose. But he put the weapon aside. He turned about fromthe door: Montague was holding the paper to the flame, and a corner ofit had taken fire. Kelly sprang to the scrutoire, snatched the paperout of Montague's hand, and crushed the fire out in the palm of hishand.
'I gave you the right key, 'he whispered. 'You chose the wrong box.'
Montague snatched up the pile of papers and turned them over.
'Good God! Cyphers!' he exclaimed, and dropped them as though theywere, in truth, burning.
'The other box; the other box,' said Kelly, pointing to it. He fanciedthat he heard Hutchins moving cautiously just outside the door, andwas now in a fever lest the delay brought about by his incertitudemight balk his intentions. At any moment the Messenger might come backfrom Bury Street, or the file of the musquets march tramping up thestairs.
All this indeed takes a long time to tell, and seemed no less long toMr. Kelly in the happening; but the whole of the occurrences, themovements of the Messengers, the tidings cried to him from the street,the burning of the papers, with Kelly's own thoughts and doubts andunlooked-for temptations, passed with momentary speed.
Montague found Wogan's strong box, the box of the love-letters,unlocked it, tore out all the contents, and glanced at a few at thetop, middle and bottom.
'Smilinda--Smilinda--Smilinda,' he said, reading the signatures. 'Andit's for this woman,' he cried, striking the letters with his fist,'Smilinda, Phylissa, and the Lord knows what else to the Lord knowswhat other men, that----'
But the Parson was in no mood to listen to Montague's reflections.
'Put the other papers back into that box, the box with the unbrokenlock, lock it and give me the key,' he said. Montague crammed herladyship's letters into the inner pocket of his coat. But before hecould move the door opened with a crash, and Hutchins flew in, Kellymade a furious pass, and Hutchins, leaping back, 'parried the thrustwith the door,' as he truly said in his evidence before the Lords'Committee. Had he not used that novel parade Kelly would infalliblyhave run him through, and, as it was, George could scarcely drag hispoint out of the wood of the door, which Hutchins in leaping back hadshut. Being now sufficiently terrified, for indeed no man ever had anarrower escape of his life, Hutchins contented himself with aplaintive expostulation from the safety of the passage.
'Sure, I would serve Lord Townshend himself in the same way,' Kellyshouted back, 'if he tried to enter my room against my will without awarrant,' and lowering his voice so that only Montague might hear,'Lock the box, and throw me the key.' If only for Montague's sake thepapers of the Plot must not be found lying open upon Kelly'sscrutoire, and the box which held them broken among a litter of ashes.Mr. Kelly could not but remember with what care, earlier in theevening, he had burned and buried the ashes of his Grace ofRochester's letters, and reflect with some sadness what little goodhad come of it. Montague locked up the papers of the Plot in the boxwhich had held Smilinda's letters, and tossed the key to Kelly, whocaught it.
'There is no more to do?' said Montague.
'Nothing,' and Kelly handed him back his sword and sat him down on asofa. He seized the occasion to make Montague acquainted with theaccident through which Smilinda's last letter had been laid on the topof those in the box that contained very different wares, addingapologies for his brief delay to inform him. The Colonel then sat downover against Kelly and laid the flat of Kelly's sword across hisknees. He looked at the sword for a little. Then,
'You had a chance to let me destroy your own papers,' he said.
'Yes, and to be a liar to a loyal gentleman, and a traitor to a moresacred cause than even my King's.'
'Smilinda's?' Montague looked up in perplexity.
'No,' said Kelly, and he stared for a little at the floor, then hesaid very slowly, 'A long while ago I made a prayer that nothing mightever come between the Cause and me except it be death. Even while Imade the prayer I was summoned to visit Lady Oxford, who was thenunknown to me. Well, something has come between the Cause andme--honour. A more sacred Cause than even my King's. Himself would sayit.'
Colonel Montague fancied that he heard a distant regular tramp of feetlike soldiers. But Mr. Kelly was clean lost in his thoughts.
'I could meet the King with a clear face and this story on my lips,'he continued, 'even though it were over there in Rome, and in his oldlodging. The very approach to him was secret, his antechamber a cellarunderground. You went by night, you crossed the cellar in the dark,you climbed a little winding stair, and above, in a mean crazy chamberwhich overhangs the Tiber, there was my King looking towards England.A man like me, with a man's longings and a man's despair, but, unlikeme, robbed of a nation. Day by day delay shadowed his eyes and wroteupon his face until the face became an open book of sorrows. Yethimself would say, "Perish the Cause, perish all but honour,"' and,suddenly throwing up his arms, Mr. Kelly cried out in a voice of greatpassion and longing, 'The King! The King!'
Colonel Montague very likely had his own opinions as to how the Kingwould take it, but he was careful to keep them to himself, and in thesilence which followed upon Kelly's outburst the tread of soldiers washeard very distinct, and Hutchins's voice at the door bidding themhurry.
Mr. Kelly raised his head. He too had heard the sound, and, drawing aring from his finger,
'Take my seal ring, when you are alone seal up the brocades in apacket. You know the person whom they concern.'
Montague took the ring and slipped it on his finger.
'Mr. Johnson, or Kelly, or whoever you are,' he said cordially, 'wemust needs be public enemies, but I wish my King had many as lovingservants as your King has in you.'
The rattle of the butts of musquets could now be heard in the passage.
'And, damme,' said Montague, bending forward suddenly; he had all thiswhile maintained in word and carriage the reserve of the Englishman,but now he showed a decent warmth of blood, 'had you been in my placeand I in yours, Smilinda or no Smilinda, I should have let you burnthe cyphers.'
On those words he was pleased to say, which Mr. Kelly merely counted apoliteness, the door was driven open by the butts of several fusils, asergeant with a file of musqueteers entered; behind them came Chandlerwith the warrant, Lyng with a broken head, Hutchins with a white,scared face, and Randall whose coat was in tatters.
They were surprised enough, you may be sure, to see the Colonel on oneside of the fireplace and their redoubtable prisoner as quiet upon theother.
'Oh,' said Mr. Kelly, with an admirable air of astonishment, 'it seemsyou have a warrant after all.'
Hutchins then read the warrant through, and Mr. Kelly surrendered. Butthe Messenger had not done; he picked up presently the impudence toquestion the Colonel.
'Your worship let the prisoner take his sword?'
The dignified Montague stared at Hutchins with a strong amazementuntil the fellow was quite abashed.
'What's the world coming to?' he said. 'Here is your prisoner's sword,if he is your prisoner.' and, lifting Mr. Kelly's sword from hisknees, he handed it to Hutchins. Hutchins then made haste to secureMr. Kelly's effects. He went over to the scrutoire, and the firstthings he clapped his eyes upon were a pile of black ashes and a greatmany splotches of hot grease from the candle.
Hutchins looked at the Colonel with a question upon his lips; theColonel looked stonily at Hutchins. Hutchins raised his nose andsniffed the air.
'Will your worship tell me whether the prisoner meddled with anypapers?' he asked, but with less impertinence than before.
'Yes, sir, the gentleman did.'
'What was done with them?'
'Sir, they were burned, as you may perceive.'
'And how came you, sir, to let them be burned?'
'I am not to answer to you, sir, for my conduct, of which I can give asufficient account to persons who have the right to question me. Ihave, for your satisfaction, no knowledge of this gentleman's name,nor as to whether he is correctly described in a warrant which was notin the house while we were together. It appears to me that you are allvery likely to lose your scutcheons for your doltish stupidity,whether you have hold of the right or the wrong gentleman. I wish youa good night, sir,' he said, bowing to Kelly, 'and speedy deliverance,if you deserve it, from your present company.'
He put his hat on his head and walked out of the room without anotherword. Hutchins thereupon searched Mr. Kelly's scrutoire; he found onebox broken open and empty, another box, its own fellow, locked. Mr.Kelly delivered the key to it, with a great show of reluctance. Itheld the papers of the Bishop's Plot and a key to the Bishop's cypher,which was used to convict him at his trial. As for the burned papers,it came out at George's trial that he had destroyed letters in thepresence of a King's officer. But the Duke of Wharton, in his famousspeech, argued that a man of Mr. Kelly's figure might very well haveletters to burn which were not political.
That night the Parson was taken to the house of John Gardiner, livingin Westminster Market, there to be kept in safe custody. He walkedbetween the soldiers, and whistled a lively tune as he walked.
This was related in more than one inn-parlour the next day by thesergeant, who was mightily surprised that a man should bear so heavy acharge so easily, and so the story got about.
But Mr. Kelly was sensibly lightened by having saved Smilinda in theend after so many mischances, and when he thought of her letters safein the Colonel's inner pocket, felt a private glow of pleasure whichput all conjectures of his fate and doom clean out of his head.Moreover, he says that Rose was never nearer to him than on that nightand during that walk. He speaks as though she walked by his sideamongst his captors, and walked with a face that smiled.