From the window of the room in which he was confined, Buckingham idly watched the work; and as he stood there, the King and the Duke of Norfolk came forth with a few attendants and rode gayly away. A scowl of darkest hatred distorted his face, and he shook his fist at Richard--then laughed; and the laugh grew into a sneer, that after the features were composed again still lingered about the mouth. "It was well for the Plantagenet he did not grant the interview," he muttered; "else------" From within his doublet, he took a long silver comb, such as men used to dress their flowing hair and of which, naturally, he had not been deprived, and touching a secret spring, drew from the heavy rim a slender dagger. "It is a pretty bit of Italian craft and methinks would have cut sure and deep," he mused. He felt the blade and tested its temper by bending it nigh double . . . "Why should I not cheat yonder scaffold and scorn the tyrant to the end?" . . . then with calm determination returned it to its sheath. "It would give them cause to dub me coward, and to say I would have weakened at the final moment. A Stafford dare not risk it." He turned again to the window--and started forward with surprise. "Darby! By all the devils in Hell! Here, with the King. . . The false-hearted scoundrel! With him, at least, I can square off." He struck the door sharply; it opened and Raynor Royk stepped within and saluted. "Will you deliver a message for me?" Buckingham asked, offering him a rose-noble. The old soldier drew back. "I am not for sale, Sir Duke," he said. "What is the message?" "For Sir Aymer de Lacy, my good fellow. Tell him I pray a moment's conversation on a matter of grave importance." Without a word Royk faced about and went pounding down the passage. Presently a light, quick step came springing up the stairway, and De Lacy entered and closed the door behind him. "You sent for me?" he said. "Aye, Sir Aymer, and I thank you for the coming. Tell me, when did Lord Darby join the King?" "About a week since; though he left us at Lincoln on the seventeenth to gather his retainers." "Bah! I might have known it!" the Duke exclaimed. "It was he, then, that betrayed our plans to Richard. God in Heaven, that I might have him by the throat!" and he clinched his hands in fury. "Was Darby forewarned of your revolt?" De Lacy asked. "Forewarned! Forewarned! The dog helped me arrange and mature it. He swore he hated Richard." "Doubtless he did--and does so still, it was not he who betrayed you." Stafford stared incredulously. "Then how, in Satan's name, comes he here now?" he demanded. "I can answer that better after I know his part with you--may I send for Ratcliffe?" "As you wish," was the reply. That the Master of Horse was surprised at the summons was very evident; and he turned to De Lacy questioningly.