“My letter, yes. You had it? The letter that I sent you nigh upon a month ago to the Paul’s Head?” “Nay,” said Holles. “I had no letter.” “But....” Albemarle looked almost as if he did not believe him. “The landlady there kept it for you. She said, I think, that you were absent at the time, but would be back in a day or two, and that you should have the letter at once on your return.” “A month ago, do you say? But it is two months and more since I left the Paul’s Head!” “What do you tell me? Ah, wait. My messenger shall speak for himself on this.” And he strode away to the bell-rope. But Holles checked him. “Nay, nay,” he cried with a wry smile. “There’s not the need. I think I understand. Mrs. Quinn has been riding her malice on a loose rein. Your messenger would, no doubt, announce whence he came, and Mrs. Quinn, fearing that the news might be to my advantage, acted so as to prevent his making further search for me. Evidently the plague has spared that plaguy woman.” “What’s this?” The Duke’s heavy face empurpled. “Do you charge her with suppressing a communication from an office of state? By Heaven, if she’s still alive I’ll have her gaoled for it.” “Let be,” said Holles, seizing him by the arm. “Devil take the woman! Tell me of the letter. Ye’ll never mean that you had found employment for me, after all?” “You seem incredulous, Randal? Did you doubt my zeal for you?” “Oh, not your zeal. But the possibility of your helping one who was in my case.” “Aye, aye. But as to that, why, Buckingham improved it when he stood surety for your loyalty before the Justices. I heard of that. And when the chance came, the chance of this Bombay command that already I had earlier intended for you....” “The Bombay command?” Holles began to wonder did he dream. “But I thought that it had been required by Buckingham for a friend of his own.” “Sir Henry Stanhope, yes. So it had, and Stanhope sailed for the Indies with the commission. But it seems that when he did so he already carried the seeds of the plague within him. For he died of it on the voyage. It was a Providence that he did, poor devil; for he was no more fitted for the command than to be Archbishop of Canterbury. I wrote to you at once asking you to seek me here, and I waited a fortnight to hear from you. As you made no sign, I concluded that either you were stricken with the plague, or no longer desired the office, and I proceeded to appoint another gentleman of promise.” Holles folded the pinions of his soaring hopes and let himself fall back into his despondency. He uttered a groan.