Can you not plan and arrange something which may yet have the
effect of accomplishing what at first seemed so very simple, but which
has, from one unfortunate circumstance and another, become full of
difficulty and pregnant with all sorts of dangers?" "I must confess I have no plan." "I listen with astonishment." "Nay, now, you are jesting." "When did you ever hear of me jesting?" "Not often, I admit. But you have a fertile genius, and I have always,
myself, found it easier to be the executive than to plan an elaborate
course of action for others." "Then you throw it all on me?" "I throw a weight, naturally enough, upon the shoulders which I think
the best adapted to sustain it." "Be it so, then--be it so." "You are, I presume, from what you say, provided with a scheme of action
which shall present better hopes of success, at less risk, I hope. Look
what great danger we have already passed through." "Yes, we have." "I pray you avoid that in the next campaign." "It is not the danger that annoys and troubles me, but it is that,
notwithstanding it, the object is as far off as ever from being
attained." "And not only so, but, as is invariably the case under such
circumstances, we have made it more difficult of execution because we
have put those upon their guard thoroughly who are the most likely to
oppose us." "We have--we have." "And placed the probability of success afar off indeed." "And yet I have set my life upon the cast, and I will stand the hazard. I tell you I will accomplish this object, or I will perish in the
attempt." "You are too enthusiastic." "Not at all. Nothing has been ever done, the execution of which was
difficult, without enthusiasm. I will do what I intend, or Bannerworth
Hall shall become a heap of ruins, where fire shall do its worst work of
devastation, and I will myself find a grave in the midst." "Well, I quarrel with no man for chalking out the course he intends to
pursue; but what do you mean to do with the prisoner below here?" "Kill him." "What?" "I say kill him. Do you not understand me?" "I do, indeed." "When everything else is secured, and when the whole of that which I so
much court, and which I will have, is in my possession, I will take his
life, or you shall. Ay, you are just the man for such a deed. A
smooth-faced, specious sort of roan are you, and you like not danger. There will be none in taking the life of a man who is chained to the
floor of a dungeon." "I know not why," said the other, "you take a pleasure on this
particular night, of all others, in saying all you can which you think
will be offensive to me." "Now, how you wrong me. This is the reward of confidence." "I don't want such confidence." "Why, you surely don't want me to flatter you." "No; but--"

"Psha! Hark you. That admiral is the great stumbling-block in my way. I
should ere this have had undisturbed possession of Bannerworth Hall but
for him. He must be got out of the way somehow." "A short time will tire him out of watching. He is one of those men of
impulse who soon become wearied of inaction." "Ay, and then the Bannerworths return to the Hall." "It may be so." "I am certain of it. We have been out-generalled in this matter,
although I grant we did all that men could do to give us success." "In what way would you get rid of this troublesome admiral?" "I scarcely know. A letter from his nephew might, if well put together,
get him to London." "I doubt it. I hate him mortally. He has offended me more than once most
grievously." "I know it. He saw through you." "I do not give him so much credit. He is a suspicious man, and a vain
and a jealous one." "And yet he saw through you. Now, listen to me. You are completely at
fault, and have no plan of operations whatever in your mind. What I want
you to do is, to disappear from the neighbourhood for a time, and so
will I. As for our prisoner here below, I cannot see what else can be
done with him than--than--"

"Than what? Do you hesitate?" "I do." "Then what is it you were about to say?" "I cannot but feel that all we have done hitherto, as regards this young
prisoner of ours, has failed. He has, with a determined obstinacy, set
at naught, as well you know, all threats." "He has." "He has refused to do one act which could in any way aid me in my
objects. In fact, from the first to the last, he has been nothing but an
expense and an encumbrance to us both." "All that is strictly true." "And yet, although you, as well as I, know of a marvellously ready way
of getting rid of such encumbrances, I must own, that I shrink with more
than a feeling of reluctance from the murder of the youth." "You contemplated it then?" asked the other. "No; I cannot be said to have contemplated it. That is not the proper
sort of expression to use." "What is then?" "To contemplate a deed seems to me to have some close connexion to the
wish to do it." "And you have no such wish?" "I have no such wish, and what is more I will not do it." "Then that is sufficient; and the only question that remains for you to
confide, is, what you will do. It is far easier in all enterprises to
decide upon what we will not do, than upon what we will. For my own part
I must say that I can perceive no mode of extricating ourselves from
this involvement with anything like safety." "Then it must be done with something like danger." "As you please." "You say so, and your words bear a clear enough signification; but from
your tone I can guess how much you are dissatisfied with the aspect of
affairs." "Dissatisfied!" "Yes; I say, dissatisfied. Be frank, and own that which it is in vain to
conceal from me. I know you too well; arch hypocrite as you are, and
fully capable of easily deceiving many, you cannot deceive me." "I really cannot understand you." "Then I will take care that you shall." "How?" "Listen. I will not have the life of Charles Holland taken." "Who wishes to take it?" "You." "There, indeed, you wrong me. Unless you yourself thought that such an
act was imperatively called for by the state of affairs, do you think
that I would needlessly bring down upon my head the odium as well as the
danger of such a deed? No, no. Let him live, if you are willing; he may
live a thousand years for all I care." "'Tis well. I am, mark me, not only willing, but I am determined that he
shall live so far as we are concerned. I can respect the courage that,
even when he considered that his life was at stake, enabled him to say
no to a proposal which was cowardly and dishonourable, although it went
far to the defeat of my own plans and has involved me in much trouble." "Hush! hush!" "What is it?" "I fancy I hear a footstep." "Indeed; that were a novelty in such a place as this." "And yet not more than I expected. Have you forgotten what I told you
when I reached here to-night after the appointed hour?" "Truly; I had for the moment. Do you think then that the footstep which
now meets our ears, is that of the adventurer who boasted that he could
keep watch for the vampyre?"