“No,” answered his son. “I think the Jacobites are otherwise employed. They have tha tin hand which will ruin them.”
“A plot?” questioned Breadalbane calmly.
Sir John’s blue eyes narrowed unpleasantly.
“Naturally, my lord—they do nothing else. But I have the threads of this in my hands.”
Argyll began biting his forefinger nervously, when the Master’s glance fell on him he obviously flushed, but his cousin’s delicate face was unmoved.
“Another Bedloe affair, Sir John?” he asked.
“No, my lord. There are great names in it—the greatest. In a few days I hope to lay them before the King.”
Melville had brought him the maps; he began to lay them out on the table; Argyll gave him a covert look.
“See, my lord,” said Sir John, and he handed a paper to Breadalbane. “Is not this correct?” And as he spoke he leaned forward eagerly and traced with his pen the route Hamilton should take from Fort William to Glencoe.
Argyll pushed his chair back from the table, withdrawing himself from the discussion.