"Zey are both dangerous Jacobites," he said, "and there are reasons vy zis Muckle John should not stand 'is trial in London. He knows too much, Mr. Mackenzie. There are things we vish to keep to ourselves for a little--you understand?" Castleleathers bowed his head. "There is the boy too," he said. Cumberland shrugged his shoulders. "Now that Lovat is taken, I care no dings for 'im. But he vill serve to put you on the trail of the other." "He is elusive, your Highness--there is no telling how we can lay hands on him unless..." "Unless what?" "Your Highness could appear to have pity on his youth and issue a pardon. It would be an act of clemency and what followed would only point to clan jealousy." Cumberland frowned. He was a straight-forward man with an aversion for subterfuge. "I do nod like your Highland vays," he said grumpily, "why not hang the boy in the ordinary vay? Muckle John is a different matter. I see no reason for this pardon." Castleleathers played his last card. "There are wheels within wheels," said he, "we know that this Muckle John has pledged his word to preserve the life of the boy. When we have the boy in our hands, for he will come home on receiving his pardon, we will have the bait for the catching of Muckle John. Two rebels will have gone, your Highness, and none the wiser. There are things this Muckle John could say that would sound badly in a trial...." "I know, I know," said Cumberland, ill at ease, "but surely there are odder vays...." Castleleathers shrugged his shoulders. "It is all we have asked," he said, "and we are not a small clan." The Duke noted the menace in his voice and controlled his anger with an effort. "At anodder time," he said, "I would see you var enough, but I am sick to death of all this futile business and the wrangles of one clan with another. Have it as you will." He strode to the table, took a piece of paper out of a drawer and began to write upon it. "Here," he said crossly, "is ze pardon for Rob Fraser, and now let me hear no more of Muckle John." "Your Highness has acted wisely," said Castleleathers smoothly, and a minute later took his leave. Backwards and forwards tramped the Duke of Cumberland, his thoughts deep again upon his departure for London and the brave times ahead. Forgotten was all the hardship of the last few months--the poor fare and dreary weather. He was like a man saying a glad farewell to a desolate country of savages. "It is but half done," whispered Castleleathers to Miss Macpherson when they stood once more upon the heather, "he has forgotten Rob and is like a man eaten up with longing for the south. I've seen such before. There is still Mackenzie. He may be upon us any minute, and what is it to be, the sword or a dunt upon the head." "A Mackenzie," remarked Miss Macpherson, like to overflow with joy at the pardon, "is neither here nor there, but what of the swarm? You may kill one bee, but dinna forget the hive."