Roderick shrugged. He went to a door at the opposite end of the room. “This way, sir.”
They passed into a narrow corridor, faintly lighted by an oil-lamp at one end. Roderick led the way along it, and up the flight of winding stairs that branched off from it. They came out on to a broad landing which was dark except for the light streaming from an open door. Someone came out of that door, and turned to look at them.
Roderick seemed not to see. He spoke crossly to Roxhythe in Dutch.
“You should not have left it until this late hour, Franz. If His Highness is asleep I cannot get the gloves for you, and I think it probable that he is asleep. He will be most displeased when he finds them still unmended. … Good evening, Van Druyslet!”
A good-natured voice laughed:
“Those gloves again, Dart!”
“There has been enough bother about them already,” said Dart, walking on.
“Ay. Good night.”
They went on down another passage, better-lighted, and not so narrow. A man was standing by a low couch outside one of the doors that flanked the corridor. Roxhythe took a firm hold on his pistol.
The man came forward, eyeing Roxhythe curiously. He addressed himself to Dart.
“In the Prince his study, Roderick.” He spoke in English.
“Thank you, Heenvliet. The Governor has visited His Highness?”
“Half an hour ago. His Highness feigned the migraine. It is quite safe, but in case of accidents I will cough outside the door, and you, my lord,” he turned to Roxhythe, “will secrete yourself in the cupboard by the fireplace.”
Roxhythe bowed. Roderick opened the door, and they entered a large, well-lighted room. It was empty, and, like the rest of the Palace, richly, but severely furnished.
Roderick held out his hand.
“That pistol, if you please, my lord.”
Roxhythe handed it over, smiling.
“Did you think I meant to assassinate the Prince?”
“I take no risks, sir,” said Roderick quietly. He went to where a heavy curtain hung, and pulled it back. “His Highness will be with you almost at once.” He disappeared.
My lord was again shaken with laughter.
“Oddsfish! ’tis as good as Etheridge his best!” he told himself. “The little princeling! … But he would appear to have good servants,” he added, thinking of the man on the passage.
The Palace was very silent. A cinder falling on to the hearth caused his lordship to start as at an explosion. The candles were burning steadily; not even the wind moaned.
“A damned gloomy place,” said Roxhythe. He drew a bulky package from his breast, and laid it on the carven table.
There was not a sound anywhere; no movement, no sign of life; everything was eerily silent. Roxhythe shivered.
“William of Orange has my sympathy,” he murmured.
The heavy curtains swung noiselessly back. A slight youth, with great eyes burning in an unnaturally pale face, came quickly into the room. Dart followed him, and the curtain fell back into place.
The boy was dressed as plainly as Dart. Light curls fell to his shoulders and framed his hawk-face. His eyes were hazel, cold and keen, the nose aquiline; the mouth thin. He gave Roxhythe the impression of one much repressed, and old beyond his eighteen years.
My lord swept a low, court bow.
“Your Highness!”
William spoke haltingly. His voice, even then, had a harsh timbre.
“Mi—lor’—Roxhyt’e?”
My lord bowed again.
“I have to thank Your Highness for receiving me at this hour. I am very sensible of the honour you do me.”
William inclined his head gravely. He spoke over his shoulder to Dart.
“Rodrigue, you may leave me.”
Roderick frowned quickly.
“Will Your Highness not permit me to remain?”
“It is not necessary. Heenvliet will show Milor’ Roxhyt’e back to your room. I wish you to go.”
“Very well, Sir.” Roderick went out.
William brought his eyes back to Roxhythe. He continued to speak Dutch.
“Well, milor’? You bring me a message from my uncle?”
“Yes, Highness. I have a proposition to lay before you on behalf of His Majesty,” said Roxhythe, also in Dutch.
“It is here?” William stepped to the table where lay Ashley’s packet. His hand closed over it.
“That contains the proposition, Sir, as writ by Lord Ashley.”
The Prince looked up quickly.
“So? Ashley.” He sat down at the table, and broke open the seals. “Be seated, milor’.” He spread the close-written sheets out before him, and resting his head in his hand, started to read.
Nothing broke the stillness save the crackling of the parchment, and occasionally a cough from the Prince.
While he read, Roxhythe studied the boy’s face, waiting for him to betray his feelings by some change of expression.
William read on steadily. Not an eyelid flickered.
Roxhythe marvelled more and more at this extraordinary youth. He realised that here was a personality as strong as, or even stronger than his own master’s, and at the same time, totally dissimilar. William’s manner was almost repellent; he employed no wiles to attract; he rarely smiled. To Roxhythe he had been brusque to the point of rudeness, yet his lordship was conscious of an overwhelming magnetism. He could understand now how it was that William was so well served. Instinctively he felt that William had the strength of character that his uncle lacked. He felt, too, that William could inspire unlimited confidence, and he knew, without knowing why, that even he, cynic that he was, would trust him implicitly.
William put the sheets together, and rested his hand lightly on them. For some time he did not speak, but sat looking straight before him, eyebrows drawn close across his forehead. His tapering fingers drummed on the folded parchment; a ruby ring caught the light of the candles, and winked sagely. It was the only ornament he wore.
“So this is Ashley’s proposition. …” he said slowly. “What has my uncle to say?”
“His Majesty but endorses what you have read, Highness,” answered Roxhythe.
William looked at him thoughtfully.
“I do not see what King Charles stands to gain by this,” he flicked the parchment.
Roxhythe was taken aback. He was not prepared for such ruthless perspicacity.
“Your Highness has a knowledge of men,” he said.
“Is it likely that King
