"Higham assured me," said the young Earl, "that it was put into his hand, that he opened it, read it, and returned it with contempt. What can make you think that he never saw it?"
"Because Lord Stair was, on that very day and hour, more than seven hundred miles from Wooler as the crow flies," replied Richard. "His regiment was there, true enough; but he was in Paris. A man cannot be in two places at once, noble friend. But come, do not pause and wonder. This is all I know. Fill up, fill up! Let me hear the whole; and I will try if my wits are not worth something, in spite of all folks may say against them."
Smeaton did as he was bidden; and, sitting down at the table with his young companion, he gave him a clear and complete narrative of everything that had occurred after his arrival at Ale Manor, and showed him the copies he had taken of his letters to Lord Stair. More than once Richard asked him to stop for a moment, and wrote down the heads of what he had heard; and then, looking at the letters, he said--
"May I take these with me to copy? You shall have them to-morrow; for you may need them. Strange that a piece of paper should sometimes be the best armour for a man's neck!"
"Take them, take them," replied Smeaton. "They are but unauthenticated copies, and could not be given in evidence, if Lord Stair has not received them. Yet I can hardly believe that Higham would play me such a trick."
"Where did you hire him?" asked Richard.
"He was recommended to me by the man in whose house I lodged," replied the young Earl; "a good honest fellow, who had been a servant to the Earl of Oxford."
"Put about you by the Jacobites," replied Richard, with a laugh, "to keep you steady in the cause, and commit you to it if you wavered. The man must be found and made to tell the truth."
"Hear you will have to seek him in the grave," said Smeaton; "for he was sorely wounded at Preston, where he fought as boldly as a lion."
"Never mind," replied Richard. "Some of these letters must have reached Lord Stair, I think; and, if I get at him, I will jump upon his back, and never take my spurs from his side till we have passed the winning-post. Good-bye, Eskdale, good-bye. Your trial will not come on for a month, they say; and you wont see me for a fortnight, perhaps; but I'll be working all the time. Tell Emmeline to mind well every step she takes; for the villain scoundrel, William Newark, alias Somerville, has made his peace with the court, pretends that he is the most loyal subject of King George, has betrayed all that he knew of Kenmure's and Forster's secrets, and is watching with all his eyes to pounce upon Emmeline. He cannot rightly make out where she is; for I have puzzled him about it. But he thinks that if he could but get her into his hands, Ale Manor--which is hers, you know--would be his, and he would be a great man in his generation. Once more, good-bye, Eskdale; and, if you hear that I am drowned, shot, stabbed, or otherwise disposed of, do not forget me. Say to yourself--'I was kind to the boy; and he loved me well.'"