That was on the night of Saturday, and early on Monday came the news which justified him of his assurances. It was brought him to Windsor by one of Amy’s Cumnor servants, a fellow named Bowes, who, with the others, had been away at Abingdon Fair yesterday afternoon, and had returned to find his mistress dead at the stairs’ foot—the result of an accident, as all believed. It was not quite the news that my lord had been expecting. It staggered him a little that an accident so very opportune should have come to resolve his difficulties, obviating the need for recourse to those more dangerous measures with which he had charged Sir Richard Verney. He perceived how suspicion might now fall upon himself, how his enemies would direct it, and on the instant made provision. There and then he seized a pen, and wrote to his kinsman, Sir Thomas Blount, who even then was on his way to Cumnor. He stated in the letter what he had learnt from Bowes, bade Blount engage the coroner to make the strictest investigation, and send for Amy’s natural brother, Appleyard. “Have no respect to any living person,” was the final injunction of that letter which he sent Blount by the hand of Bowes. And, then, before he could carry to the Queen the news of this accident which had broken his matrimonial shackles, Sir Richard Verney arrived with the true account. He had expected praise and thanks from his master. Instead, he met first dismay, and then anger and fierce reproaches. “My lord, this is unjust,” the faithful retainer protested. “Knowing the urgency, I took the only way—contrived the accident.” “Pray God,” said Dudley, “that the jury find it to have been an accident; for if the truth should come to be discovered, I leave you to the consequences. I warned you of that before you engaged in this. Look for no help from me.” “I look for none,” said Sir Richard, stung to hot contempt by the meanness and cowardice so characteristic of the miserable egotist he served. “Nor will there be the need, for I have left no footprints. “I hope that may be so, for I tell you, man, that I have ordered a strict inquiry, bidding them have no respect to any living person, and to that I shall adhere.” “And if, in spite of that, I am not hanged?” quoth Sir Richard, a sneer upon his white face. “Come to me again when the affair is closed, and we will talk of it.” Sir Richard went out, rage and disgust in his heart, leaving my lord with rage and fear in his. Grown calmer now, my lord dressed himself with care and sought the Queen to tell her of the accident that had removed the obstacle to their marriage. And that same night her Majesty coldly informed de Quadra that Lady Robert Dudley had fallen down a flight of stairs and broken her neck. The Spaniard received the information with a countenance that was inscrutable. “Your Majesty’s gift of prophecy is not so widely known as it deserves to be,” was his cryptic comment.