Sir C. Call the fellow in. [Exit Servant.] Who knows but he may help us in our difficulties?
Chairman brought in, with a Letter in his Hand.
Lord G. [Still impatiently.] Whom did you bring that letter from?
Chairman. Please your honour, I don't know; passing through the square, a sash flew up, and down came this letter and half a crown upon my head. It could not have fallen better, there's not a fellow in town more handy than I am, nor, though I say it more cute at private business—So I resolved to deliver it safely—Is your honour's name Clifford?
Lord G. No, indeed, friend, I am not so happy a man.
Sir C. [Aside.] That letter must not be lost though. Here, my friend—I'll take charge of your letter. [Takes the Letter.] Something for your pains.
Chairman. God bless your honour, and if you want to send an answer, my number is forty-seven in Bond Street—your honour, I am known by the name of secret Tom.
[Exit.
Lord G. What is the use of this deceit? strong as my suspicion is, a seal must be sacred.
Sir C. Our circumstances make an exception to your rule: when there is treason in the state, wax gives way. [Takes the Letter, opens and reads it.] 'Faith, this is beyond my expectation—though the mystery is unfathomable, the aptness of it to my purpose is admirable—Gayville—I wish you joy.