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Mordaunt to make himself impenetrable.
“It appears,” said Cromwell, “that this improvised
executioner did his duty remarkably well. The blow, so they
tell me at least, was struck with a master’s hand.”
Mordaunt remembered that Cromwell had told him he had had no
detailed account, and he was now quite convinced that the
general had been present at the execution, hidden behind
some screen or curtain.
“In fact,” said Mordaunt, with a calm voice and immovable
countenance, “a single blow sufficed.”
“Perhaps it was some one in that occupation,” said Cromwell.
“Do you think so, sir? He did not look like an executioner.”
“And who else save an executioner would have wished to fill
that horrible office?”
“But,” said Mordaunt, “it might have been some personal
enemy of the king, who had made a vow of vengeance and
accomplished it in this way. Perhaps it was some man of rank
who had grave reasons for hating the fallen king, and who,
learning that the king was about to flee and escape him,
threw himself in the way, with a mask on his face and an axe
in his hand, not as substitute for the executioner, but as
an ambassador of Fate.”
“Possibly.”
“And if that were the case would your honor condemn his
action?”
“It is not for me to judge. It rests between his conscience
and his God.”
“But if your honor knew this man?”
“I neither know nor wish to know him. Provided Charles is
dead, it is the axe, not the man, we must thank.”
“And yet, without the man, the king would have been
rescued.”
Cromwell smiled.
“They would have carried him to Greenwich,” he said, “and
put him on board a felucca with five barrels of powder in
the hold. Once out to sea, you are too good a politician not
to understand the rest, Mordaunt.”
“Yes, they would have all been blown up.”
“Just so. The explosion would have done what the axe had
failed to do. Men would have said that the king had escaped
human justice and been overtaken by God’s. You see now why I
did not care to know your gentleman in the mask; for really,
in spite of his excellent intentions, I could not thank him
for what he has done.”
Mordaunt bowed humbly. “Sir,” he said, “you are a profound
thinker and your plan was sublime.”
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“Say absurd, since it has become useless. The only sublime
ideas in politics are those which bear fruit. So to-night,
Mordaunt, go to Greenwich and ask for the captain of the
felucca Lightning. Show him a white handkerchief knotted at
the four corners and tell the crew to disembark and carry
the powder back to the arsenal, unless, indeed —- ”
“Unless?” said Mordaunt, whose face was lighted by a savage
joy as Cromwell spoke:
“This skiff might be of use to you for personal projects.”
“Oh, my lord, my lord!”
“That title,” said Cromwell, laughing, “is all very well
here, but take care a word like that does not escape your
lips in public.”
“But your honor will soon be called so generally.”
“I hope so, at least,” said Cromwell, rising and putting on
his cloak.
“You are going, sir?”
“Yes,” said Cromwell. “I slept here last night and the night
before, and you know it is not my custom to sleep three
times in the same bed.”
“Then,” said Mordaunt, “your honor gives me my liberty for
to-night?”
“And even for all day to-morrow, if you want it. Since last
evening,” he added, smiling, “you have done enough in my
service, and if you have any personal matters to settle it
is just that I should give you time.”
“Thank you, sir; it will be well employed, I hope.”
Cromwell turned as he was going.
“Are you armed?” he asked.
“I have my sword.”
“And no one waiting for you outside?”
“No.”
“Then you had better come with me.”
“Thank you, sir, but the way by the subterranean passage
would take too much time and I have none to lose.”
Cromwell placed his hand on a hidden handle and opened a