"But the longer I studied them the more insincere they became. I found my leader a catspaw of foreigners, used to undermine England's prestige. His spies were in the pay of Papists. His aims were not the good of England, but his own aggrandizement, the winning back of my country to the Pope, the furthering of France's ambitions."
Master Juggins reached over and smote me on the knee.
"Hast learned that, lad? Why, then, there's no more loyal Englishman in London!"
"So you think," I answered. "So I think. But hear me out. I brought myself to abandon my friends in France, the only friends I had. I told my feelings to a certain great gentleman who handles affairs at St. Germain. He cursed me for a turncoat, would have ordered his lackeys to flog me from the palace. I left him—in disgrace. The doors of my friends were closed to me. I thought I would make my way to England and begin a new life.
"So I applied to the English ambassador for a passport. He laughed at me. Did I think he was so innocent as to be blinded by such transparent trickery? Nay, the Pretender must seek otherwhere, for means to plant a fresh spy in England. In desperation then I sold a miniature of my mother's——"
Master Juggins held up his hand.
"Where?" he asked eagerly.
"How?" I replied, not understanding.
"Where sold you this miniature? To what dealer!"
"'Twas a Jew named Levy close by the Quai de l'Horloge."