It turned him cold with horror. He could not remain idle and let matters run their course. He must avert these discoveries if it lay within his power to do so, or else he must submit to a lifetime of remorse should Ostermore survive to be attainted of treason. He had made an end--a definite end--long since of his intention of working Ostermore's ruin; he could not stand by now and see that ruin wrought as a result of the little that already he had done towards encompassing it. “His papers must be saved,” he said shortly. “I'll go to the library at once.” “But the secretary's agent is there already,” she repeated. “'Tis no matter for that,” said he, moving towards the door. “His desk contains that which will cost him his head if discovered. I know it,” he assured her, and left her cold with fear. “But, then, you--you?” she cried. “Is it true that you are a Jacobite?” “True enough,” he answered. “Lord Rotherby knows it,” she informed him. “He told me it was so. If--if you interfere in this, it--it may mean your ruin.” She came to him swiftly, a great fear written or her winsome face. “Sh,” said he. “I am not concerned to think of that at present. If Lord Ostermore perishes through his connection with the cause, it will mean worse than ruin for me--though not the ruin that you are thinking of.” “But what can you do?” “That I go to learn.” “I will come with you, then.” He hesitated a moment, looking at her; then he opened the door, and held it for her, following after. He led the way across the hall to the library, and they went in together. Lord Ostermore's secretaire stood open, and leaning over it, his back towards them was a short, stiffly-built man in a snuff-colored coat. He turned at the sound of the closing door, and revealed the pleasant, chubby face of Mr. Green. “Ha!” said Mr. Caryll. “Mr. Green again. I declare, sir, ye've the gift of ubiquity.” The spy stood up to regard him, and for all that his voice inclined to sharpness when he spoke, the habitual grin sat like a mask upon the mobile features. “What d'ye seek here?” “Tis what I was about to ask you--what you are seeking; for that you seek is plain. I thought perhaps I might assist you.” “I nothing doubt you could,” answered Mr. Green with a fresh leer, that contained this time something ironic. “I nothing doubt it! But by your leave, I'll pursue my quest without your assistance.” Mr. Caryll continued, nevertheless, to advance towards him, Mistress Hortensia remaining in the background, a quiet spectator, betraying nothing of the anxieties by which she was being racked. “Ye're mighty curt this morning, Mr. Green,” said Mr. Caryll, very airy. “Ye're mighty curt, and ye're entirely wrong so to be. You might find me a very useful friend.” “I've found you so before,” said Mr. Green sourly. “Ye've a nice sense of humor,” said Mr. Caryll, head on one side, contemplating the spy with admiration in his glance. “And a nicer sense of a Jacobite,” answered Mr. Green.