Sir John took up the first of his letters and glanced over it eagerly.
“From Breadalbane,” he said. “More of these cursed clans have come in—but the Macdonalds remain obdurate—I am glad of it.”
He dashed the letter down.
“Melville, you will get me those maps of the Highlands I spoke of—I must see Breadalbane—he is in London now—his caution allows him to put but little on paper.”
“Yes, Sir John,” answered the secretary and noting his master’s angry tone he gave him a furtive glance and saw him still brooding gloomily over Breadalbane’s letter.
There followed a long pause of utter silence; then the secretary was roused into a start by a letter being flung down the table with a force that sent it onto the carpet by his feet; he was used to sitting quiet under stormy episodes and with an unmoved face he went on mending the pen; but he gave a covert glance at the letter. It was one of those he had brought up; the seal was still unbroken and the inscription was in a woman’s hand; a writing the secretary knew very well since it was that of Sir John’s wife.
Another silence broken at last by the Master of Stair:
“A letter from the King,” he said, “put it with the others, Melville.”
“His Majesty does not know you have left London, Sir John?”
“No—nor need he—I intend to say nothing of this plot till I have discovered everything. I’ll have no more Dangerfield scares to make the Jacks laugh. You will take heed, Melville, that you do not mention to any this visit to Romney.”