Clementina

"You will not force me to that," cried the fellow.

"By no means. The confession must be voluntary and written of your own

free will. So write it, my friend, without any compulsion whatever, or

I'll throw you out of the window."

Then followed a deal of sighing and muttering. But the confession was

written and handed to Wogan, who glanced over it.

"But there's an omission," said he. "You make mention of only five men."

"There were only five men on the staircase."

"But there are six horses in the stables. Will you be good enough to

write down at what hour on what day Mr. Harry Whittington knocked at the

Governor's door in Trent and told the poor gout-ridden man that the

Princess and Mr. Wogan had put up at the Cervo Inn at Ala."

The soldier turned a startled face on Wogan.

"So you knew!" he cried.

"Oh, I knew," answered Wogan, suddenly. "Look at me! Did you ever see

eyes so heavy with want of sleep, a face so worn by it, a body so jerked

upon strings like a showman's puppet? Write, I tell you! We who serve

the King are trained to wakefulness. Write! I am in haste!"

"Yet your King does not reign!" said the man, wonderingly, and he wrote.

He wrote the truth about Harry Whittington; for Wogan was looking over

his shoulder.

"Did he pay you to keep silence as to his share in the business?" asked

Wogan, as the man scattered some sand over the paper. "There is no word

of it in your handwriting."

The man added a sentence and a figure.

"That will do," said Wogan. "I may need it for a particular purpose;"

and he put the letter carefully away in the pocket of his coat. "For a

very particular purpose," he added. "It will be well for you to convey

your party back with all haste to Trent. You are on the wrong side of

the border."