The first thing that I did when I got home was to call for my man James, and bid him shut the door.

(My man was about forty years old, and he had been got for me in Rome, having fallen ill there in the service of my Lord Stafford--being himself a Catholic, and a very good one, for he went to the sacraments three or four times in the year, wherever he was.
He was a clean-shaven fellow, and very sturdy and quick, and a good hand at cut and thrust and the quarter-staff, as I had seen for myself at Hare Street on the summer evenings.

I had found him always discreet and silent, though I had not as yet given him any great confidence.) "James," I said to him with great solemnity, "I have something to say to you which must go no further." He stood waiting on my word.
"A fellow hath been after me to-day--named Dangerfield--a very brown man, with no hair on his face" (for so Mr.Chiffinch had told me).

"He hath been branded on the hand for some conviction.

I tell you this that you may know him if you see him again.