t be allowed to confer apart, he smoked a fear
on Sir Rowland's part, based upon the baronet's consciousness of his own
guilt. He turned from him with a sneering smile, and without so much
as consulting his associates he glanced at Wilding and waved his hand
towards the door.

"Pray do as you suggest, Mr. Wilding," said he. "But I depend upon you
not to tax our patience."

"I shall not keep Mr. Trenchard a moment longer than is necessary," said
Wilding, giving no hint of the second meaning in his words.

He stepped to the door, opened it himself, and signed to Trenchard to
pass out. The old player obeyed him readily, if in silence. An usher
closed the door after them, and in silence they walked together to the
end of the passage.

"Where is your horse, Nick?" quoth Wilding abruptly.

"What a plague do you mean, where is my horse?" flashed Trenchard. "What
midsummer frenzy is this? Damn you for a marplot, Anthony! What a pox
are you thinking of to thrust yourself in here at such a time?"

"I had no knowledge you were in the affair," said Wilding. "You should
have told me." His manner was brisk to the point of dryness. "However,
there is still time to get you out of it. Where is your horse?"

"Damn my horse!" answered Tren chard in a passion. "You have spoiled
everything!"

"On the contrary," said Mr. Wilding tartly, "it seems you had done that
very thoroughly before I arrived. Whilst I am touched by the regard for
me which has misled you into turning the tables on Blake and Westmacott,
yet I do blame you for this betrayal of the Cause."

"There was no help for it."

"Why, no; and that is why you should have left matters where they
stood."

Trenchard stamped his foot; indeed, he almost danced in the excess of
his vexation. "Left them where they stood!" he echoed. "Body o' me!
Where are your wits? Left them where they stood! And at any moment you
might have been taken unawares as a consequence of this accusation being
lodged against you by Richard or by Blake. Then the Cause would have
been betrayed, indeed."

"Not more so than it is now.

"Not less, at least," snapped the player. "You give me credit for no
more wit than yourself. Do you think that I am the man to do things by
halves? I have betrayed the plot to Albemarle; but do you imagine I have
made no provision for what must follow?"

"Provision?" echoed Wilding, staring.

"Aye, provision. God lack! What do you suppose Albemarle will do?"

"Dispat