Christopher arrived at length at the little town near which Monmouth had stationed his army. The Duke himself was not in camp, but stayed with his household in one of the largest houses in the town. It had been entirely given over to him, and he contrived, so the landlord of the Setting Sun told Christopher, to while away his time very creditably.
On the morning after his arrival Christopher caught sight of the Duke riding out in the midst of a gay cavalcade to the chase. He saw very little change in him. He was burnt by the sun and more developed, but otherwise just the same joyous, carefree Prince who had left England a few years before.
After watching the Duke out of sight, Christopher went through the town on a voyage of exploration.
He heard a good deal of English spoken around him, and much French. Rather to his surprise he found that the town was seething with Frenchmen, and a few French officers. He was puzzled, but he remembered that England was now a neutral country and might receive whom she pleased in her camps.
Presently he arrived at the big marketplace in the middle of the town, and there to his dismay, he came across Mr. Milward, face to face.
Escape was impossible. Christopher felt as though his coat were transparent and his precious packet in full view.
Milward stared at him. Then he gave a great laugh, and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Oddsbody! My young friend of Flushing!”
Sick at heart, Christopher assented. He grasped Milward’s hand with an assumption of cordiality. Arm in arm they walked across the square.
“What a surprise! I had not thought to see you here, Mr. Dart!”
“Nor I you,” said Christopher truthfully. “I am sightseeing. On my holiday, you understand.”
“So? You are still with Lord Roxhythe?”
“Yes. I have long been desirous of visiting the troops, so he hath given me leave to come.”
“I am delighted! Another intrigue?”
Christopher stared at him.
“Intrigue? Not that I know of!”
Milward laughed again.
“Oh, you diddled me finely between you! ’Twas but lately that I found out. Gad, but I was puzzled! I knew not what to think, and when I reported to M. de Rouvigny he pulled the longest face I have ever seen! However, naught came of it. The secret leaked out a little while since.”
“What secret?” demanded Christopher blankly.
“Tut-tut! There’s no need to feign innocence now. I fancy we work together, eh?”
Christopher shook his head hopelessly.
“You speak of what I know nothing. We went to Holland because of my lord’s disgrace.”
“Bah! You know ’twas not so.”
“Indeed, indeed, I know nothing! Pray tell me what you mean?”
“Oh, if you knew naught, well and good! What is it this time?”
Christopher saw that he was not believed. He sighed. “You speak in riddles. I am on my holiday.”
“Oho? You know, you need not be afraid to speak. We are all one over this.”
By now Christopher was genuinely perplexed.
“All one over what?”
“Why, your errand, to be sure!”
“But I am not come on an errand!”
“Soho! You know naught of—M. Barillon?”
“I have seen him several times, but—”
“But you do not come from him?”
“Of course I do not!”
Milward wagged his finger expressively.
“You are very cautious with me. It is the King, eh?”
“What is the King?”
“Your errand!”
“Milward, pray do not be ridiculous! I have not an idea in my head what it is that you mean!”
“Have you not? Oh, I’m not squeezing you! We are one now. Barillon warned us of something of this kind.”
“I do not pretend to understand,” said Christopher. “You talk like a madman.”
“That’s good, ’pon my soul! Don’t be offended! I won’t question you any further. Had you a fair crossing?”
“Very fair,” said Christopher. They went into a little inn.
When he at length shook off Mr. Milward he was hopelessly bewildered. From that gentleman’s manner he would seem to be friendlily disposed, but Christopher mistrusted his manner. It almost seemed as though Milward believed him to be in French pay. Well, let him think so!
Just before sundown he went to Monmouth’s house. He had no difficulty in entering, and on asking for Mr. Cherrywood, was shown into a small room overlooking the garden.
Several gentlemen were strolling across the lawns. They all seemed in excellent spirits; the sound of their laughter floated in at the open window.
Mr. Cherrywood came briskly into the room. He was a short, dapper, little man, with bright eyes and a quick speech.
“Mr.—Dart? You want me? Have I the honour of your acquaintance?” He spoke courteously, but with a touch of surprise.
Christopher bowed.
“As yet, sir, you have not. I have something of a private nature to impart.”
“Oh? Will you not be seated? We are quite private here. No, they will not hear you from the lawn. What is it that you wish to tell me?” A little of his cordiality had disappeared.
Christopher drew off his gloves unhurriedly. In all things he imitated Roxhythe. From his finger he slipped the King’s ring and pushed it across the table to Mr. Cherrywood.
Cherrywood picked it up, glanced at it, and rose. His manner underwent a change.
“One moment, sir!” He went to the window, and shut it. “You come from His Majesty?”
“I have that honour.”
“I did not know you were one of us?” The tone was searching.
“I am not,” said Christopher. “His Majesty’s envoy is ill. I am bidden to tell you that Church and Justin are not to be trusted.”
“Well, well! Perhaps I knew that. You’ve a message? Or a dispatch?”
Christopher extricated the two
