On that for the first time my lord's self-control abandoned him. He started to his feet. "You lie!" he cried, vehemently. "You lie in your teeth, you scoundrel! Sir--pardon me, but this is--this is too much! I cannot sit by and hear it!" By a gesture not lacking in kindness, the King bade him resume his seat. Then, "_Peste!_" he said, taking snuff with a droll expression of chagrin. "Will anyone else ask a question. My Lord Dorset has not been fortunate. As the _Advocatus Diaboli_, perhaps, he may one day shine." "If your Majesty pleases," Lord Marlborough said, "I will ask one. But I will put it to Sir John, and he can answer it or not as he likes. How did you know. Sir John, that it was the Duke of Shrewsbury who met you at Ashford, and conferred with you there?" "I knew the Duke," Sir John answered clearly. "I had seen him often, and spoken with him occasionally." "How often had you spoken to him before this meeting?" "Possibly on a dozen occasions." "You had not had any long conversation with him?" "No; but I could not be mistaken. I know him," Sir John added, with a flash of bitter meaning, "as well as I know you, Lord Marlborough!" "He gave his title?" "No, he did not," Sir John answered. "He gave the name of Colonel Talbot." Someone at the table--it was Lord Portland--drew his breath sharply through his teeth; nor could the impression made by a statement that at first blush seemed harmless, and even favourable to the Duke, be ignored or mistaken. Three out of four who sat there were aware that my lord had used that name in his wild and boyish days, when he would be _incognito_; and, moreover, the use of even that flimsy disguise cast a sort of decent probability over a story, which at its barest seemed credible. For the first time the balance of credit and probability swung against my lord; a fact subtly indicated by the silence which followed the statement and lasted a brief while; no one at the table speaking or volunteering a farther question. For the time Matthew Smith was forgotten--or the gleam of insolent triumph in his eye might have said somewhat. For the time Sir John took a lower seat. Men's minds were busy with the Duke, and the Duke only; busy with what the result would be to him, and to the party, were this proved; while most, perceiving dully and by instinct that they touched upon a great tragedy, shrank from the _dénouement_. At last, in the silence, the Duke rose; and swaying blindly on his feet, caught at the table to steady himself. For two nights he had not slept. "Duke," said the King suddenly, "you had better speak sitting."