How did he know that? Then I remembered the voices outside the church.
"Jack--what did Rebecca mean----"
"Not to be hanged," interrupts Jack. "'Tis all along o' having too
much conscience, Ramsay. They must either lie like a Dutchman and be
damned, or tell the truth and be hanged. Now, ship ahoy," says he, "to
the quarterdeck!" and he flung me forcibly up the steps.
Rebecca, herself, red-eyed and reserved, threw wide the door. She
motioned me to a bench seat opposite the fireplace and fastened her
gaze above the mantel till mine followed there too. A bunch of keys
hung from an iron rack.
"What are those, Rebecca?"
"The largest is for the gate," says she with the panic of conscience
running from fire. "The brass one unlocks the great door,
and--and--the--M. Picot's cell unbolts," she stammered.
"May I examine them, Rebecca?"
"I will even draw you a pint of cider," says Rebecca evasively, with
great trepidation, "but come back soon," she called, tripping off to
the wine-cellar door.
Snatching the keys, I was down the steps at a leap.
"The large one for the gate, Jack! The brass one for the big door, and
the cell unbolts!"
"Ease your helm, sonny!" says Jack, catching the bunch from my clasp.
"Fall-back--fall-edge!" he laughed in that awful mockery of the
axeman's block.
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