"Then hear me, master tailor, for it began this wise," now said the clerk with a great effort at composure. "My lord of Stowmaries hath a kinsman, one named Michael Kestyon, whom you know, and on whose conduct I am not permitted to make comment. Michael hath for years held—on grounds which it would take too long now to explain—that he and not his cousin should own the titles and estates of Stowmaries and Rivaulx. But hitherto he hath had no money wherewith to press his claim. The law as administered in England is a vastly expensive affair, my master, and Michael Kestyon was a poor man, poorer even than I; he was a wastrel and many called him a dissolute reprobate."
"Enough of Michael Kestyon," interrupted Legros gruffly. "Have I not told you to be brief."
"Michael Kestyon's affairs form part of my tale, Master. You must know that he is now passing rich. Many and varied are the rumours as to the provenance of his wealth, and many the comments as to the change in the man himself. Armed with money Michael Kestyon hath obtained the ear and attention of the high dignitaries of the law and the favour of the King himself. The fact hath become of public knowledge that only His Majesty's signature to a document is needed now to instate Michael Kestyon in the title and dignities which are declared to be legally his. My lord of Stowmaries, therefore, is, as you see, no longer secure in his position and his wealth, and though you may not permit the humble clerk to make comment on the doings of his betters, yet Master Daniel Pye hath come all the way from England to bring you this news, which must be vastly gratifying to you, whom that same lord of Stowmaries had so wantonly injured."
Daniel Pye and his mouthpiece both looked at the tailor with marked assurance now. Of a truth they were quite confident that the Legros thirsting for revenge would receive the news with every sign of exultation. But the master tailor was silent and moody, and it was Mademoiselle who spoke.
"And is this all the news which you, sir, came all the way from England to impart to my father?" she asked, addressing Daniel Pye in his mother tongue.
"No, not altogether all, Mistress," he replied; "I have better news for you yet."
"Anent my lord Stowmaries' troubles?"
"Ay, something you will be still more glad to hear."
"What is it?"
"My lord of Stowmaries is a Papist—or—saving your presence he is a Catholic, and Catholics are in bad odour in England just now—they are said to be conspiring to murder the King, and to place the Duke of York on the throne—to sell England to France, and to place the English people under the yoke of the Pope of Rome."