“How did it reach me?” he said dismally. “How did it get there?”
“Probably, my lord,” ventured the secretary, a sleek, apologetic man, “it was slipped into your lordship’s hand by one whom your lordship mistook for a chance importunate suitor, and your lordship accepted and pouched and forgot it.”
“It may have represented a threat or a friendly warning,” said the comptroller.
“Your lordship hath many and mighty enemies,” said the secretary, “as who hath not among the great and influential?”
“Your power, your imperious will, your favour in high places, my lord,” said the comptroller—“these be all incitements to the envious and unscrupulous. Without question there is some conspiracy formed against your life.”
“I could almost suspect you all of collusion in it,” cried the Treasurer bitterly, “for the relish with which you dispose of me.”
The comptroller murmured distressfully, “O, my lord, my lord!”
Sir Richard broke out, moved beyond endurance:
“What the devil do you all, moaning and croaking? I am not food yet for your commiseration. The plot may be already forward while you babble. Look under the bed, Phineas.”
The valet dived, rose, scoured the room, examined into every possible lurking-place.