“I have it from my lord himself--and I know the man. Were he taken they'd wring out of him whatever happened to be in him. He has no discretion. Indeed, he's but a clod, too stupid even to be aware of his own stupidity.” “Then what is to be done?” inquired Sir Richard, frowning. “We'd best get home to France again.” “And leave matters thus?” He considered a moment, and shook his head, smiling bitterly. “Could that content you, Justin? Could you go as you have come--taking no more than you brought; leaving that man as you found him? Could you?” Mr. Caryll looked at the baronet, and wondered for a moment whether he should persevere in the rule of his life and deal quite frankly with him, telling him precisely what he felt. Then he realized that he would not be understood. He could not combat the fanaticism that was Sir Richard's in this matter. If he told him the truth; how he loathed the task; how he rejoiced that circumstances had now put it beyond his reach--all he would achieve would be to wound Sir Richard in his tenderest place and to no purpose. “It is not a matter of what I would,” he answered slowly, wearily almost. “It is a matter of what I must. Here in England is no more to be done. Moreover, there's danger for you in lingering, or I'm much mistaken else.” “Danger of what?” asked Sir Richard, with indifference. “You are being spied upon.” “Pho! I am accustomed to it. I have been spied upon all my life.” “Like enough. But this time the spies are messengers from the secretary of state. I caught a glimpse of them lurking about your doorway--three or four at least--and as I entered I all but fell over a Mr. Green--a most pertinacious gentleman with whom I have already some acquaintance. He is the very man who searched me at Maidstone; he has kept his eye upon me ever since, which has not troubled me. But that he should keep an eye on you means that your identity is suspected, and if that be so--well, the sooner we are out of England the better for your health.” Sir Richard shook his head calmly. The fine-featured, lean old face showed no sign of uneasiness. “A fig for all that!” said he. “I go not thus--empty-handed as I came. After all these years of waiting.” A knock fell upon the door, and Sir Richard's man entered. His face was white, his eyes startled. “Sir Richard,” he announced, his voice lowered portentously, “there are some men here who insist upon seeing you.” Mr. Caryll wheeled in his chair. “Surely they did not ask for him by name?” he inquired in the same low key employed by the valet. The man nodded in silence. Mr. Caryll swore through his teeth. Sir Richard rose. “I am occupied at present,” he said in a calm voice. “I can receive nobody. Desire to know their business. If it imports, bid them come again to-morrow.”