Whether we can get further evidence
against him or not, that circumstance of his being found with the
Pretender's agent should go some way towards hanging him. The rest we
must supply."

Mr. Green smiled seraphically. "Ecod! I'd give my ears to have the
slippery fellow safe. Codso! I would. He bubbled me at Maidstone, and I
limped a fortnight from the kick he gave me."

"He shall do a little more kicking--with both feet," said his lordship
with unction.

CHAPTER XVI. MR. GREEN EXECUTES HIS WARRANT

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
Charing Cross one evening at dusk, to the house at the corner of Maiden
Lane where Sir Richard Everard was lodged. 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 Christian virtue. It is plain that you
forgive me the sequel."

Mr. Green shrugged 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 humble mood," said he. "It is like the crouch before
the spring. In whom do you design to plant your claws?--yours and your
friends yonder." And he pointed with his cane across the street towards
the loungers he had observed.

"My friends?" quoth Mr. Green, in a voice of disgust. "Nay, your honor!
No friends of mine, ecod! Indeed, no!"

"No? I am at fault, then. Yet they look as if they might be bumbaili