ue," purred Sir Edward. "It was not so I meant
to toast him," cried Richard. Albemarle made an impatient gesture,
and took up a sheet of paper. "How, then," he asked, "comes this
letter--this letter which makes plain the treason upon which the Duke
of Monmouth is embarked, just as it makes plain your participation in
it--how comes this letter to be found in your possession?" And he waved
the letter in the air.

Richard went the colour of ashes. He faltered a moment, then took refuge
in the truth, for all that he knew beforehand that the truth was bound
to ring more false than any lie he could invent.

"That letter was not addressed to me," he stammered.

Albemarle read the subscription, "To my good friend W., at Bridgwater."
He looked up, a heavy sneer thrusting his heavy lip still further out.
"What do you say to that? Does not 'W' stand for Westmacott?"

"It does not."

"Of course not," said Albemarle with heavy sarcasm. "It stands for
Wilkins, or Williams, or...or... What-not."

"Indeed, I can bear witness that it does not," exclaimed Sir Rowland.

"Be silent, sir, I tell you!" bawled the Duke at him again. "You shall
bear witness soon enough, I promise you. To whom, then," he resumed,
turning again to Richard, "do you say that this letter was addressed?"

"To Mr. Wilding--Mr. Anthony Wilding," Richard answered.

"I would have Your Grace to observe," put in Trench ard quietly, "that
Mr. Wilding, properly speaking, does not reside in Bridgwater."

"Tush!" cried Albemarle; "the rogue but mentions the first name with a
'W' that occurs to him. He's not even an ingenious liar. And how, sir,"
he asked Richard, "does it come to be in your possession, having been
addressed, as you say, to Mr. Wilding?"

"Aye, sir," said Sir Edward, blinking his weak eyes. "Tell us that."

Richard hesitated again, and looked at Blake. Blake, who by now had
come to realize that his friend's affairs were not mended by his
interruptions, moodily shrugged his shoulders, scowling.

"Come, sir," said Colonel Luttrell, engagingly, "answer the question."

"Aye," roared Albemarle; "let your invention have free rein."

Again poor Richard sought refuge in the truth. "We--Sir Rowland here and
I--had reason to suspect that he was awaiting such a letter."

"Tell us your reasons, sir, if we are to credit you," said the Duke, and
it was plain he mocked the prisoner. It was, moreover, a request that
staggered Richard. Still, he sought to find