# Parson Kelly/Chapter 23
### 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 see with your own eyes in his Grace of Dorset's Report to the Lords' Committees, where the informations of John Hutchins and Daniel Chandler, described as 'two of his Majesty's Messengers in Ordinary,' are printed. These did not chance to be men of a very high degree of intelligence, as their own confessions bear testimony, in itself a fortunate 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 corner of St. James's House and up to St. James's Street to the corner of Ryder Street, where he turned. Ryder Street, what with gentlemen walking home on the footpaths and chairs carried in the road, was a busy thoroughfare at this time of the night, and he remarked nothing extraordinary until he was close to his own doorstep. Then he distinguished, or rather seemed to distinguish—for in the doubtful light he could not be certain—at a little distance on the opposite side 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 now this way now that. He was tall, and not unlike Mr. Wogan in his girth. Now, Colonel Montague was aware that her ladyship possessed a lackey of just such a conspicuous figure.
'For once in a while,' he thought, 'the news-sheet spoke truth to-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 men ran across the road and collared him. The capture was observed by one or two gentlemen, who stopped, and immediately a small crowd began to gather about them.
Montague was prudent enough to waste no time in a useless struggle with the Messengers, and asked them quietly who they were and what they intended. At this moment the door was opened by Mrs. Kilburne's maid, and the Messengers, lifting the Colonel up, carried him into the house. Hutchins, a short, stoutish fellow, who was the chief of the three men, told the Colonel who they were.
'And we hold a warrant for your apprehension under Lord Townshend's seal,' he said, and showed his scutcheon and the warrant.
'Not for my apprehension,' replied Montague. 'There is one without there who can speak for me.' For the door was still open to the street, and amongst the people who thronged the entrance, he now saw very clearly the blue and silver livery of her ladyship. The lackey, however, pushed backwards out of range, and since those who were foremost of the crowd turned about to see who it was that Montague pointed to, Hutchins took the occasion to close the door in their faces.
'You are George Kelly, alias James Johnson, alias Joseph Andrews,' said he, turning again to Colonel Montague, and reading out from the warrant a number of names by which the Parson was known to the honest party.
'It is the first I have heard of it,' replied Montague, and he invited the Messengers up to his rooms on the first floor, where he would be happy to satisfy them of their mistake. Mrs. Kilburne had now joined her maid in the passage, and she followed the Messengers up the stairs, wringing her hands over the disgrace which, through no fault of hers, had fallen upon her house. When they were come within the room, Montague threw open his cloak, which he wore wrapped about his shoulders, and discovered his scarlet coat beneath it.
'I am Colonel Montague,' he said, 'and an officer under the King as well as you. If there is work to be done for the King, I shall be very happy to assist you. I fought for the King at Preston,' and he made a great flourish of his services and valorous acts, not being sure that the Messengers had reinforcements without, and hoping that Mr. Kelly might enter meanwhile and do what was needful. Mrs. Kilburne's tongue and care for the Parson seemed likely to forward this plan, for, with many unnecessary words, she declared how the Colonel had lodged with her for years.
'And as for Mr. Johnson,' she said, 'there was such a man who came and went, but he lodged with Mrs. Barnes in Bury Street, and there you should go if you seek for news of him.'
But the ten minutes were not yet gone. The maid remained downstairs in the passage. She was a perfectly honest poor wench, who would have risked herself for the Parson or for any gentleman in distress. But Montague, however closely he listened, could not hear that she opened the door, or any noise in the room below.
Hutchins made his apologies with a great many 'your honours,' and the Colonel was no less polite in his compliments upon Hutchins's zeal, which he would be sure to make known in the proper quarters. But still the Parson did not come, and Montague could hold the Messengers in talk no longer, though that would have been of little use, as he now discovered.
For Hutchins turned about to Chandler,—
'Go down into the street and tell Lyng and Randall,' he said, 'that our man is not come. Bid them watch for him at the corner of Ryder Street and St. James's.' And as he spoke he gave Chandler the warrant. Chandler slipped it into his pocket, and ran downstairs to join the others 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 am Mr. Kelly's friend, and without any argument, if you please.' For he saw that she was on the point of interrupting him. 'There is but one thing you can do for him. Send someone you can trust, or go yourself to lure the Messengers off to Mrs. Barnes's house. But you must be quick, and here's money to help you.'
He filled her hands with the Parson's gold, and she, in her turn, went downstairs and out of the house by a door at the back. Montague, for his part, had it in mind to try whether the like means might not over-persuade Hutchins's zeal. With that design he descended to Hutchins, whom he found lighting a candle in Mr. Kelly's room with the door open so that he might command a view of the maid who was still waiting in the passage.
The Colonel stepped into the room, casting his eyes about for the strong-box with Smilinda's letters, which he could not see. He saw the scrutoire, however, which stood in the window with the lid closed. Hutchins held the candle above his head and remarked it at the same time.
'I will search the rooms,' he said with an air of consequence. Colonel Montague was in a quandary. Hutchins had only to throw back the lid and the Parson's strong-box would be in his hands. He had only then to break open the lock, and all Smilinda's dainty sentiments about the union of souls would be splotched over by the dirty thumbs of a constable. And the Colonel could not prevent the sacrilege unless the money did it for him.
'Mr. Hutchins,' he said, and jingled the gold in his pockets. But he got no further in his persuasions. For the name was scarce off his lips when a hubbub arose without. It was a confusion of noise at the first as though it came from the end of the street.
'They have taken him,' said Hutchins, setting down the candle and flinging 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 was taken for debt. Those who were gathered in front of the house did indeed turn themselves about, but they were for the most part of the better class, and the night-rakers and such-like who might have attempted a rescue, only came up behind at Mr. Kelly's bawling, from St. James's Street, where they were likely to find more profit than in Ryder Street. This friendly mob was running together indeed, but came too late.
'Yes, they have taken him,' said Montague. Mrs. Kilburne had not drawn the Messengers off. On the other hand, Hutchins had not opened Mr. Kelly's scrutoire. 'They have taken him,' and the Parson was already under the window. His sword was gleaming in his hand but the Messengers 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 forced into 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 in after Kelly and slammed the door.
The posture of affairs then was this:
Colonel Montague and Hutchins were standing in Mr. Kelly's room close to the scrutoire and the open window.
Mr. Kelly, Lyng, who was a big lout, designed by Providence for this office and no other, and the maid, were in the passage. Randall and Chandler were outside in the street and at their wits' ends to keep back 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 held him and arranged his cravat.
'These are ill times for a peaceful man to live in,' he said. 'It seems a gentleman cannot walk home of an evening but he must be set upon and cuffed.'
With a shrug of the shoulders, as though the whole matter was a mystery, he sauntered into his parlour. His eyes carelessly took in the room. It seemed that nothing had been disturbed. The scrutoire was shut, but were Smilinda's letters still hidden there or were they safe in Montague's pockets? His eyes rested on the Colonel's face and put the question. But the Colonel gave no sign; Hutchins stood at his elbow. 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 presence of one of the King's officers, gentlemen,' he said politely with a bow to Hutchins, 'I take it that you will forgo your ingenious attempt to rob me and we may all go quietly to bed.'
He moved as he spoke towards the scrutoire, and again looked at the Colonel. The Colonel's face was still a blank.
'We hold a warrant for the arrest of George Kelly, alias James Johnson,' began Hutchins.
'Indeed?' replied George with an effort of attention, as though fatigue put a strain upon his good manners. 'And why should George Kelly prefer to call himself James Johnson? I cannot think it is the better name. Mr. George Kelly lacks taste, I am afraid,' and he stifled a yawn with his hand.
'Colonel Montague,' said Hutchins, who was in some perplexity as to what to make of Kelly's present indifference, 'your honour promised to assist me.'
Colonel Montague being appealed to, nodded his head.
'Though you will not need my assistance,' he said, 'for here is another of your fellows.'
Chandler had come within the house, and pushing into the room said that the curtains were drawn apart so that the rabble could see clearly all that happened in the room and were on that account the less inclined to disperse. As he spoke he hitched the curtains to and a 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 thought it likely he had taken his measures, took his sword by the hanger and handed it sheath and all to Hutchins, who in his turn passed it to Montague. Montague stood in the corner by the window.
'There is some stupid blunder,' said Kelly, 'which I cannot take it upon 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 gentlemen to the round-house in the middle of the night without a warrant, but we live in ill times.' All this he said with an admirable air of resignation, though his eyes kept glancing towards Montague, who still dared give no sign. The Colonel waited upon occasion; his present aim was to hinder the Messengers from any suspicion that the Parson and he were in one purpose or indeed were acquainted.
In answer to Kelly, Chandler took the warrant from his pocket and handed it to Colonel Montague, who read it through.
'It is a very sufficient warrant,' he said, 'and this gentleman may be satisfied if he is rightly named, of which of course I have no assurance,' and folding the paper he handed it back to Chandler. Whereupon Chandler went out again into the street to guard the door from the rabble.
Hutchins then took Kelly's hat, placed it on the table, and searching his pockets, pulled out some papers which he had about him, things of no moment; and these papers he laid in the hat. But to search Kelly's pockets Hutchins must needs stoop. Here was the Colonel's chance. Over Hutchins' shoulder, Kelly's eyes again put their question. The Colonel now answered with a shake of the head. Smilinda's letters had not been saved, a great surprise and disappointment to the Parson, who of course knew nothing of Montague's mistaken arrest.
Kelly, however, wasted no precious moments in regrets. As Hutchins turned to place the papers in the hat, Kelly thrust Lyng aside, and, springing to the window, tore aside the curtains and again bawled at the top of his voice. 'A rescue! An arrest!'
Shouts of encouragement greeted him; the hubbub filled the street again. Hutchins and Lyng at once sprang upon Kelly, tore him back from the window, and sent him staggering across the room.
'Tie his hands!' cried Hutchins, as he pulled down the sash. 'Knock him 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 approached him. His Irish blood bubbled in his veins at the prospect of so fine a tumble. 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 as the 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 the worthy Lyng on the tip of the chin. Mr. Lyng was clean lifted off both his feet and so sat down on the floor with some violence, where he felt his neck in a dazed sort of way to make sure that it was not broken.
'Oh, why isn't Nick here?' cried Kelly, and indeed Nicholas Wogan bewails his absence at that festivity to this day. 'Come, Mr. Hutchins, I have the other fist for you,' and he began to dance towards Hutchins, who called on the Colonel to mark the murderous look in the prisoner's eyes and save him from immediate destruction.
'Is it destruction you want?' asked Kelly with a chuckle. 'I'll gratify you with all the destruction imaginable.' And no doubt he would have been as good as his word. But Hutchins, while shutting the window had not drawn the curtains, and the rabble in the street had thus enjoyed a full view of the Parson's prowess. They had roared their applause when Lyng went down, and as Hutchins drew back before the Parson's fisticuffs, they hooted the Messenger for a coward and made a rush at the door. A stone or two shattered the window and a voice was yelling, 'Murder! murder!' in tones of unmistakable sincerity. Chandler then rushed in, his face bleeding, and said that Randall was being mobbed, and, if they did not come to help him, would be 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 of musquets.
Now Chandler, when he rushed into the room, was holding the warrant in his hand, he still held it when he ran out again, as the Parson remarked, and instantly thought of a plan by which, after all, Smilinda's letters might be secured, and her name kept wholly out of the business. Accordingly he ceased from his warlike posture and sat down in a chair. Hutchins took the occasion to draw the curtains and shut out the mob from a view of the room. Mr. Kelly smiled, for he was just wondering what excuse he could discover to do that very thing himself. Mr. Hutchins was helping him very well.
'It is a pity,' said the Parson in a plaintive voice, sucking his knuckles, which were bleeding, 'that a peaceful, law-abiding citizen must put himself to so much discomfort because a couple of rascally Messengers 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 really surrender unless the proper formalities are observed.'
Hutchins, who was no doubt well pleased to see the peaceful turn things were taking and had not the wits to suspect it, replied with an oafish grin that the prisoner was wise to submit himself to his lawful captors.
'And as for the warrant, Chandler has it safe enough in the street.'
'In the street!' cried Kelly, suddenly flying into a passion. 'And what's the warrant doing in the street? How dare the warrant be in the street when it is intended for a gentleman in the house? Upon my word it would take very little to persuade me that there's no warrant at all,' 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 impartial air.
'A warrant, yes,' said Kelly in a testy voice. 'But how can the Colonel know whether it is intended for me? How can he know whether it is a real warrant at all? You come here with a scutcheon, Mr. Hutchins. But you might have stolen the scutcheon, as you have certainly forged the warrant.' He stopped in front of Hutchins and wagged his head at him. 'Mr. Hutchins, I begin to suspect you are one of 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 worship the Colonel either,' and he called to the maid to lock the street door.
'Lock it,' said he. 'Lock the door' and Mr. Hutchins and I will get to the bottom of the matter quietly.'
That very thing now happened which Mr. Kelly most desired. The maid ran down the passage to the street door: Hutchins ran out of the room after her to prevent her locking it. Kelly flung to the door of the parlour: Mr. Hutchins was outside, the Colonel and Kelly were alone within the room.
'My sword,' said the Parson in a quick whisper. Montague held it out to 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; he stood on guard with his naked blade.
Meanwhile Hutchins and the maid were quarrelling in the passage over the door key, as Kelly could distinguish from their voices.
He made a quick step towards the window, threw open the scrutoire, and returned to his station at the door. But he had not so much as glanced at the scrutoire; he had kept his eyes fixed upon the door. Still keeping his eyes so fixed, he pointed towards the strong boxes.
'Be quick,' he whispered. 'In the strong box! Take the candle and have done. 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 and that. Mr. Kelly was about to throw a glance over his shoulder when he saw the handle of the door turn. It was turned cautiously without any noise. The next moment the door flew open. Fortunately it opened upwards towards the window and the scrutoire. Kelly stopped it with his foot when it was but half open, so that Montague was entirely hidden behind the panels from the eyes of any one on the threshold or in the passage. Hutchins was on the threshold peering into the room. But he did not peer long, for at the same moment that Kelly stopped the door with his foot he made at Hutchins, with his sword, a pass so vigorous that the hulking fellow leaped back a good yard, crying out to Montague:
'Will your honour let a poor man be killed in his duty?'
The Colonel made no answer to the pathetic question. He was occupied with 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,' Montague whispered back. 'I have broken open the box with the guard of my sword.'
'Be quick,' said Kelly. 'Make sure you have Smilinda's letters.'
All this while he had not looked towards the scrutoire. The most that he saw was the shadow of the Colonel thrown on the wall of the room by the single candle, a shadow monstrous big that held the shadow of a paper to its eyes. It is to be said in Mr. Kelly's defence that he dared not look about him. The door of the room was half open; the Messenger who had retreated into the passage was plainly hardening his heart for a rush. Mr. Kelly's attention was entirely distracted from Colonel Montague's proceedings at this important moment.
'Yes,' whispered Montague. 'This is her hand, this is the blue-edged paper 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 were occupied with Hutchins, and with his eyes his mind. He did not remember that he had thrust this letter of her ladyship's, as he had told to Wogan, into the wrong box, the box holding the papers of the Bishop and the King. Then a little flame shot up and illumined the room, which was at once filled with a smell of burning paper. Montague had burned Smilinda's letter, inviting Kelly to her rout.
It seemed that Hutchins had after all no stomach for Mr. Kelly's sword, which to be sure must have glittered ominously in the dismal light of the solitary candle. He ran back again down the passage and pulled open the street door.
'Chandler,' he shouted, calling his fellow to assist him. A yell of laughter answered him, and a voice from the street cried out that Chandler was gone for a file of soldiers. Kelly could hear Hutchins swearing and cursing, though it was himself that had sent Chandler on the errand.
A second flame spirted up and died away. Montague had burned a second letter.
'Lyng! Randall!' cried Hutchins at the street-door, but again he was answered with jeers, and again the voice called to him mockingly that they were gone to Bury Street, where they were told they would be sure to 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 hear Hutchins bawling up the street for his partners, and his voice sounded as though he had moved from the door in search of them. So for the first time Kelly looked at Montague and the scrutoire.
Colonel Montague had turned the strong-box upside down and emptied the papers on the scrutoire, so that they lay face downwards. By a scruple of delicacy, having read the topmost letter to make sure it was Lady Oxford'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 of the letters in the middle, would catch fire. One by one he burnt them face downwards at the candle, the secret letters of the Cause. He had burned three, and he now held the fourth in his hand. He approached it to the candle; he did not so much as look at it. But had he merely glanced once at Mr. Kelly leaning there against the panels of the door, that glance would have surely told him what papers he was burning.
Kelly did not speak a word, or stir a muscle. He had wiped the sweat from his face a second ago, but his forehead was wet now: his eyes stared greedily at the papers: a slow smile, of a knavish kind, that went very ill with his face, curved his lips. An extreme temptation chained him; the Devil whispered in his ear, 'Be silent,' and the Parson held his peace.
The blue-edged letter bidding him to the rout he had slipped on the top of the Chevalier's papers, as he had told Mr. Wogan. Colonel Montague was merrily burning the papers of the Plot. Kelly had but to hold his tongue, and in a few minutes he was safe. The Cause was saved so far as the papers went, and Lady Oxford, her letters unburned, was lost. No wonder the key did not fit; it was the wrong key! Kelly could see the corner of Wogan's strong-box peeping out from beneath a thatch of papers in the corner of the scrutoire.
All this the Parson saw and understood in the one short moment during which Montague approached the paper to the candle. His mind was tossed up and down in a tempest; the winds of temptation blew hard against the tides of his nature. On one side was safety and the King's interest, and Rose, who to be sure need never know of the treachery by which the Parson had won her; on the other, a broken pledge that he had given to the Colonel, and the ruin of Smilinda, who had betrayed him.
Montague lit the sheet of paper and held it up. Kelly saw the blue flame creep down from the edge, the writing turn brown, the paper curl over black and tattered, with a multitude of red sparks; and still he kept his peace.
Montague dropped the ashes on the scrutoire, and took a fifth paper from 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 his tongue: '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 good angel got the upper hand with him. He is happy now to think that no chance accident, such as the return of Hutchins or the coming of the soldiers, hurried him into the better choice with a mind half made up. Here was the very occasion of which he had dreamed when he stayed behind in Lady Oxford's withdrawing room. He could use the weapon which her letters put into his hand to save the Chevalier's papers and himself and Rose. But he put the weapon aside. He turned about from the door: Montague was holding the paper to the flame, and a corner of it had taken fire. Kelly sprang to the scrutoire, snatched the paper out of Montague's hand, and crushed the fire out in the palm of his hand.
'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 they were, in truth, burning.
'The other box; the other box,' said Kelly, pointing to it. He fancied that he heard Hutchins moving cautiously just outside the door, and was now in a fever lest the delay brought about by his incertitude might balk his intentions. At any moment the Messenger might come back from Bury Street, or the file of the musquets march tramping up the stairs.
All this indeed takes a long time to tell, and seemed no less long to Mr. Kelly in the happening; but the whole of the occurrences, the movements of the Messengers, the tidings cried to him from the street, the burning of the papers, with Kelly's own thoughts and doubts and unlooked-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 the top, middle and bottom.
'Smilinda—Smilinda—Smilinda,' he said, reading the signatures. 'And it's for this woman,' he cried, striking the letters with his fist, 'Smilinda, Phylissa, and the Lord knows what else to the Lord knows what 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 unbroken lock, lock it and give me the key,' he said. Montague crammed her ladyship's letters into the inner pocket of his coat. But before he could move the door opened with a crash, and Hutchins flew in, Kelly made a furious pass, and Hutchins, leaping back, 'parried the thrust with the door,' as he truly said in his evidence before the Lords' Committee. Had he not used that novel parade Kelly would infallibly have run him through, and, as it was, George could scarcely drag his point out of the wood of the door, which Hutchins in leaping back had shut. Being now sufficiently terrified, for indeed no man ever had a narrower escape of his life, Hutchins contented himself with a plaintive expostulation from the safety of the passage.
'Sure, I would serve Lord Townshend himself in the same way,' Kelly shouted back, 'if he tried to enter my room against my will without a warrant,' and lowering his voice so that only Montague might hear, 'Lock the box, and throw me the key.' If only for Montague's sake the papers of the Plot must not be found lying open upon Kelly's scrutoire, and the box which held them broken among a litter of ashes. Mr. Kelly could not but remember with what care, earlier in the evening, he had burned and buried the ashes of his Grace of Rochester's letters, and reflect with some sadness what little good had come of it. Montague locked up the papers of the Plot in the box which had held Smilinda's letters, and tossed the key to Kelly, who caught it.
'There is no more to do?' said Montague.
'Nothing,' and Kelly handed him back his sword and sat him down on a sofa. He seized the occasion to make Montague acquainted with the accident through which Smilinda's last letter had been laid on the top of those in the box that contained very different wares, adding apologies for his brief delay to inform him. The Colonel then sat down over against Kelly and laid the flat of Kelly's sword across his knees. 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 more sacred 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 he said very slowly, 'A long while ago I made a prayer that nothing might ever come between the Cause and me except it be death. Even while I made the prayer I was summoned to visit Lady Oxford, who was then unknown to me. Well, something has come between the Cause and me—honour. A more sacred Cause than even my King's. Himself would say it.'
Colonel Montague fancied that he heard a distant regular tramp of feet like 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 old lodging. The very approach to him was secret, his antechamber a cellar underground. You went by night, you crossed the cellar in the dark, you climbed a little winding stair, and above, in a mean crazy chamber which 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, unlike me, robbed of a nation. Day by day delay shadowed his eyes and wrote upon his face until the face became an open book of sorrows. Yet himself would say, "Perish the Cause, perish all but honour,"' and, suddenly throwing up his arms, Mr. Kelly cried out in a voice of great passion and longing, 'The King! The King!'
Colonel Montague very likely had his own opinions as to how the King would take it, but he was careful to keep them to himself, and in the silence which followed upon Kelly's outburst the tread of soldiers was heard very distinct, and Hutchins's voice at the door bidding them hurry.
Mr. Kelly raised his head. He too had heard the sound, and, drawing a ring from his finger,
'Take my seal ring, when you are alone seal up the brocades in a packet. 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, 'we must needs be public enemies, but I wish my King had many as loving servants 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 this while maintained in word and carriage the reserve of the Englishman, but now he showed a decent warmth of blood, 'had you been in my place and I in yours, Smilinda or no Smilinda, I should have let you burn the cyphers.'
On those words he was pleased to say, which Mr. Kelly merely counted a politeness, the door was driven open by the butts of several fusils, a sergeant with a file of musqueteers entered; behind them came Chandler with 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 one side of the fireplace and their redoubtable prisoner as quiet upon the other.
'Oh,' said Mr. Kelly, with an admirable air of astonishment, 'it seems you have a warrant after all.'
Hutchins then read the warrant through, and Mr. Kelly surrendered. But the Messenger had not done; he picked up presently the impudence to question the Colonel.
'Your worship let the prisoner take his sword?'
The dignified Montague stared at Hutchins with a strong amazement until 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 his knees, he handed it to Hutchins. Hutchins then made haste to secure Mr. Kelly's effects. He went over to the scrutoire, and the first things he clapped his eyes upon were a pile of black ashes and a great many splotches of hot grease from the candle.
Hutchins looked at the Colonel with a question upon his lips; the Colonel looked stonily at Hutchins. Hutchins raised his nose and sniffed the air.
'Will your worship tell me whether the prisoner meddled with any papers?' 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 a sufficient account to persons who have the right to question me. I have, for your satisfaction, no knowledge of this gentleman's name, nor as to whether he is correctly described in a warrant which was not in the house while we were together. It appears to me that you are all very likely to lose your scutcheons for your doltish stupidity, whether you have hold of the right or the wrong gentleman. I wish you a 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 another word. Hutchins thereupon searched Mr. Kelly's scrutoire; he found one box broken open and empty, another box, its own fellow, locked. Mr. Kelly delivered the key to it, with a great show of reluctance. It held 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 the presence of a King's officer. But the Duke of Wharton, in his famous speech, argued that a man of Mr. Kelly's figure might very well have letters to burn which were not political.
That night the Parson was taken to the house of John Gardiner, living in Westminster Market, there to be kept in safe custody. He walked between the soldiers, and whistled a lively tune as he walked.
This was related in more than one inn-parlour the next day by the sergeant, who was mightily surprised that a man should bear so heavy a charge so easily, and so the story got about.
But Mr. Kelly was sensibly lightened by having saved Smilinda in the end after so many mischances, and when he thought of her letters safe in the Colonel's inner pocket, felt a private glow of pleasure which put 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 night and during that walk. He speaks as though she walked by his side amongst his captors, and walked with a face that smiled.