“Naturally,” he agreed. “But what can I do, Miss Armytage? What were the actual facts, do you happen to know?” She recited them, putting the case bravely for the scapegrace Mr. Butler, dwelling particularly upon the error under which he was labouring, that he had imagined himself to be knocking at the gates of a monastery of Dominican friars, that he had broken into the convent because denied admittance, and because he suspected some treacherous reason for that denial. He heard her out, watching her with those keen eyes of his the while. “Hum! You make out so good a case for him that one might almost believe you instructed by the gentleman himself. Yet I gather that nothing has since been heard of him?” “Nothing, sir, since he vanished from Tavora, nearly, two months ago. And I have only repeated to your lordship the tale that was told by the sergeant and the troopers who reported the matter to Sir Robert Craufurd on their return.” He was very thoughtful. Leaning on the balustrade, he looked out across the sunlit valley, turning his boldly chiselled profile to his companion. At last he spoke slowly, reflectively: “But if this were really so--a mere blunder--I see no sufficient grounds to threaten him with capital punishment. His subsequent desertion, if he has deserted--I mean if nothing has happened to him--is really the graver matter of the two.” “I gathered, sir, that he was to be sacrificed to the Council of Regency--a sort of scapegoat.” He swung round sharply, and the sudden blaze of his eyes almost terrified her. Instantly he was cold again and inscrutable. “Ah! You are oddly well informed throughout. But of course you would be,” he added, with an appraising look into that intelligent face in which he now caught a faint likeness of Jack Armytage. “Well, well, my dear, I am very glad you have told me of this. If Mr. Butler is ever taken and in danger--there will be a court-martial, of course--send me word of it, and I will see what I can do, both for your sake and for the sake of strict justice.” “Oh, not for my sake,” she protested, reddening slightly at the gentle imputation. “Mr. Butler is nothing to me--that is to say, he is just my cousin. It is for Una’s sake that I am asking this.” “Why, then, for Lady O’Moy’s sake, since you ask it,” he replied readily. “But,” he warned her, “say nothing of it until Mr. Butler is found.” It is possible he believed that Butler never would be found. “And remember, I promise only to give the matter my attention. If it is as you represent it, I think you may be sure that the worst that will befall Mr. Butler will be dismissal from the service. He deserves that. But I hope I should be the last man to permit a British officer to be used as a scapegoat or a burnt-offering to the mob or to any Council of Regency. By the way, who told you this about a scapegoat?” “Captain Tremayne.” “Captain Tremayne? Oh, the man who killed Samoval?” “He didn’t,” she cried.