“Ay, sir. I sped him on his way just before I came to you.”
“And you gave him my message?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you showed him your concern for my health?”
“I thought it best to counterfeit unconcern, sir.”
Roxhythe’s eyelids drooped suddenly. His mouth twitched.
“Very good, Chris. What of the other guests?”
Christopher looked up, bewildered.
“What of them, sir?”
“Describe them.”
Understanding dawned on the boy. He described the people he had seen in the coffee-room very readily. Then he remembered the man by the window, playing dominoes. He paused, cudgelling his brains anew. Roxhythe sat still watching him.
Suddenly Christopher started up.
“Odd’s body! Of course I know!”
“Well?” Roxhythe had fallen back into his old drawl.
“At Ashley’s that day! Outside with the horse!”
“My dear Chris!” expostulated Roxhythe.
Christopher sat down again, laughing a little.
“I had forgotten you did not know! It was the day I—you engaged me. I had been to see Lord Ashley, and as I came out I met Mr. Hyde in the hall. I thought nothing of it at the time but I remarked his servant, outside. He was holding Mr. Hyde’s horse and ’tis he downstairs!”
“You infer—”
“Why, sir, Mr. Hyde is the Duke of York’s brother-in-law! The man is a spy!”
Roxhythe nodded casually.
“Is he of medium height with a bulbous nose and light eyebrows?”
“Well, yes!” admitted Christopher, smiling.
“Ah! I wondered.”
“When have you seen him, sir?”
“At Flushing the other day.”
Christopher stared at him, open-mouthed.
“Yet I did not!”
“No? But you were not on the lookout.”
“I—I hardly thought that you were!” Christopher blurted out.
“I am old in intrigue, my child,” said Roxhythe. “So he is a creature of Hyde’s? Well. Milward, then, is probably in French pay.”
“Milward!” Up started Christopher again. “I—never—thought—of—that! Why—why what a dolt I am! Of course Milward is a spy! Why did you not tell me, sir? Warn me?”
“You would have been less useful,” explained Roxhythe.
“But I might have let fall anything! Had you told me I had been on my guard.”
“Precisely,” nodded his lordship. “And you are young in intrigue.”
“Oh!” said Christopher rather blankly. He thought for a moment. “Did you but feign sickness, sir?”
“To shake him off; ay.”
“Then why did you not remain at Bergen yesterday? Why come here? He would not have suspected, for indeed you had the look of a sick man.”
“Because I had laid my plans otherwise—which plans you, my young hothead, did your utmost to o’erset.”
The ready colour rose to Christopher’s cheeks.
“I am sorry, sir. But I did not know. Is it possible that you foresaw all this?”
“It was so obvious,” sighed his lordship.
“Was it, sir?” asked Christopher admiringly. “And what now? Or—or am I to be kept in the dark?” He spoke deferentially.
“No, I am going to expound.” My lord lifted up a quill, and surveyed it idly. “Tomorrow I keep my room; on Wednesday we travel by coach to Rotterdam. I am afraid I shall be ill again, Chris. You will be suitably perturbed, and you will fetch a certain Mynheer de Staal, an apothecary, and a friend of mine. He will give it out that I am suffering from a low fever and must not be disturbed. I shall make my escape by way of the window at night and proceed to de Staal’s house where I shall wait till morning. Then I shall ride to the Hague, leaving you and John to trick the spy into thinking me abed. De Staal will come every day; I can trust him. At the Hague, I shall stay at the Three Fishers, and, with the aid of your brother, gain access to the Prince, when I shall lay His Majesty’s proposition before him. That done, and the Prince his answer given, I return to Rotterdam, and recover from the fever. For the rest it is easy. We proceed to the Hague; we meet our friend Milward. Presently, behold! His Majesty has forgiven me! We return to London. I think the amiable Mr. Milward will be perplexed.”
Christopher’s eyes glowed.
“It is a marvellously well thought-out scheme, sir. But I am afraid.”
“On what score?”
“You may be discovered. The French spies may have orders to prevent your gaining access to the Prince at any cost.”
Roxhythe’s lips curved haughtily.
“They dare not.”
“Dare not?”
“I am Roxhythe.”
“Then you think they would not murder you?”
“I know it. They dare not touch me. They are not certain on any point concerning this expedition. They suspect, but they cannot molest me on their suspicions. Had it been a lesser man, they might have dared. But I—I am Roxhythe.”
“I see,” said Christopher, abashed.
V
Mynheer de Staal
During the coach journey to Rotterdam, Christopher suffered from suppressed excitement, much to Roxhythe’s amusement.
As soon as they arrived at the inn Roxhythe retired to his room, leaving Christopher to explain to mine host that his lordship was most unwell and must be kept very quiet. At first the landlord was not desirous of having a sick man in his house, but when it was clearly borne in upon him that Roxhythe was an English milor’ and would pay lavishly, his objections faded.
Christopher repaired to Roxhythe’s room, and found him in the act of writing to de Staal.
My lord refused his proffered services, and finished the letter with a flourish.
“Tell the landlord to have it conveyed to 19, Prinsen Straat, Chris.”
“I will take it, sir.”
“My dear boy, do as I bid you.”
“Yes, sir,” said Christopher, chastened, and bore it off.
“Has M. the Spy arrived?” asked Roxhythe on his return.
“Not yet, sir.” Christopher shook his head. “I can see him nowhere.”
“I should be sorry if de Staal arrived before him,” remarked my lord.
Presently Christopher went downstairs again, on some pretext or other, and took a casual survey of the coffee-room. The spy was not there, but as Christopher turned to go, horses’ hoofs sounded on the cobblestones without. Feeling that he was very deep in intrigue, Christopher affected to take no notice and strolled towards the stairs.
“Party o’ three,” rumbled the landlord, coming out of an inner room. “Plague take them, we’re nearly full already.”
He waddled away to the door
