ed
the result; but no lettering was revealed upon it, and his face
grew dark and stern.

How many tests he applied Tom scarcely knew; but he saw that this
man was master of all the arts of secret penmanship, and that no
matter would have been kept from him had it been intrusted to the
paper.

At last Sir James became satisfied of this himself. The veins on
his forehead swelled with anger. He saw that he had been tricked,
and his fury was hotly aroused.

Smiting his great hand upon the table, he cried in a voice of
thunder:

"This despatch is a trick and a fraud. There is nothing but a sheet
of blank paper. Men do not risk their lives in carrying dummy
packets.

"Where is the true despatch, knave? Out with it, or 'twill he the
worse for you!"

"That is all I have," answered Tom quietly; "I know nothing of any
other. Search me if you will. You will find naught else."

"Search him! search him well!" said Sir James to his servants,
almost panting in his ire. "The knave was never sent to the Duke
with nothing hut this in his keeping. Find it instantly! I love not
these delays!"

Instantly Tom was laid on his back upon the floor, and such a
search was made of his dress and person as was a matter of
curiosity and amaze to himself. Even his nose and ears and mouth
were explored by rough fingers, in a fashion none too gentle;
whilst his clothing was well-nigh ripped to pieces, and he wondered
how he should ever make it fit for wear again. Certainly if he had
had any missive to carry it would not have escaped the scrutiny of
his captors, and their oaths and kicks bespoke their baffled
disappointment.

"Then he has messages intrusted to him," said Montacute, first in
French, and then in English. "Set the fellow upon his feet, and
bind fast his hands to yon rafter. If he will not speak the truth,
it shall he flogged out of him!"

The swarthy man was growing very angry at his failure. He may have
begun to suspect that he had been duped by a wit keener than his
own, and the thought raised within him the demon of cruelty and
lust of blood. He hated Lord Claud with a deadly hatred, having
been worsted by him in encounters of many kinds. If unable to wreak
his vengeance upon the man himself, to do so upon his follower was
the next best thing.

"Tell me with what messages to the Duke of Savoy you are charged!"
he cried, standing before Tom with flaming eyes. "You are not sent
upon this quest with neither letter nor wor