"Nor I--until Colonel Talbot is on the road again," said Smith, intervening deftly. "At the best this is no very safe place for him."
"That is true," said Sir John, with ready consideration. "And I should be riding within the half-hour. But to Romney. You, I suppose, return to London?"
"As directly as we dare," Smith answered; and with the word moved to the door and opened it. On which I bowed and was for going out; perhaps with a little awkwardness. But Sir John, too deeply impressed by the honour I had done him to let me retire so lamely, started forward, and snatching up a candle, would hold the door and light me; bending his long back, and calling to Brown to look to us--to look to us! Nor was this all; for when I halted half way down the stairs, and turned, feeling that such courtesy demanded some acknowledgement or at least a word of thanks, he took the word out of my mouth.
"Hist! Colonel Talbot!" he cried in a loud whisper; and leaning far over the stairs he held the light high with one hand and shaded his eyes with the other. "You know that we have the Tower?"
"The Tower?" I muttered, not understanding him.
"To be sure. Ailesbury has it in his hand. It will declare for us whenever he gets the word. But--you know it from him, I suppose?"
"From Lord Ailesbury?" I exclaimed in sheer surprise. "But he is a prisoner!"
Sir John winked. "Prisoner and master!" he muttered, nodding vigorously. "But there, I must not keep you. Good luck and _bon voyage_, M. le duc."
Which was the last I saw of him for that time. Nor did I ever see him again save on one occasion. That he was a violent and factious man, and a foe to the Protestant succession I do not deny; nor that some passages in his life do him little credit, and the most bruited the least. But for all this, and though I was then even a stranger to him, I am fain to confess that as I stumbled down the stairs, and left the poor misguided gentleman alone in his mean room to pack up those plans for the extension of the old house that would never again own a Fenwick for its master, and so to set out on his dark journey, I felt as much pity for him, as loathing for the trickster who employed me. And so far was this carried and so much influence had it with me that when we reached the room below and the landlord having left us to see to the horses, Smith in his joy at our success clapped me on the shoulder, I shrank from his hand as if it burned me; shrank, and burst into childish tears of rage. Naturally Smith, unable to comprehend, stared at me in astonishment. "Why, man," he cried, "what is the matter? What ails you?"