"But not that," murmured the younger man involuntarily, "surely not that—"
"I trust not," rejoined the other. "Have I not told you that I was the bearer of good news?"
"Good news!"
"I own it sounds like irony, but, nevertheless, Coz, you'll presently see that it is better than it seems. Let me resume, and tell you all I know. Daniel Pye hath lodged his information against you. I have it directly from Sir William Jones, who in his turn had it from Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey. The villainous rogue says that on a certain day in April he was at the hostelry of the 'Rat Mort' in Paris, in the company of one Legros—tailor of Paris—and that there he overheard you talking over with one of the ministers of the King of France, a plan whereby Charles Rex is to be murdered, the Duke of York to be placed on the English throne, and the whole of England sold to France and to Rome. It is one of those impudent and dastardly lies which, alas, find ready credence in our poor country just now. You remember Stailey's trial on the information of that scoundrel Oates, who in spite of his own obvious blunderings and contradictions was absolutely believed."
"I know, I know," said Rupert Kestyon with a groan, "I am undone, I know. Cousin, I must fly the country at once—I can reach Dover to-night."
"Nay, that you cannot, Cousin; your arrest is imminent. The warrant is out and would take effect the moment you attempted to leave your house."
"But in the name of God, is there no way out?" came in tones of tragic despair from the unfortunate man.
"Ay, that there is and a right simple one. The regal bribe, Cousin," said Michael with a grim smile, "which I promised to offer you."
"My life—do you mean my life? You have not the power to save my head from the block. If I am arrested and brought to trial on one of these infamous charges, the king himself could not save me."
"No; the king could not—but I can."