“Mine!” cried Argyll, stepping back.
“Absurd—is it not?—but even supposing you were in the plot, I assure you that John, knowing it, is capable of disclosing to you that it was discovered.”
Argyll gave a feeble laugh. “My lord, it is no’ a concern of mine—what the Jacobites may plot.”
“Naturally,” answered Viscount Stair. “Merely—as my son said—there are great names imperiled.”
Argyll saw clearly enough that the astute old lawyer divined that he was implicated, and the Viscount, seeing it as clearly his side, waited for Argyll’s nervousness to betray him further.
But the Earl’s caution had kept him from giving any written pledge to the Jacobites and the knowledge of it steadied him now; he fenced warily with the Viscount’s wiliness and took his leave, more hastily than ceremoniously, leaving the Viscount in a pleasant humor. The little episode delighted him; he chuckled to himself at the thought of Argyll’s face. He pictured that unfortunate gentleman’s agonies as he hurried home; then his smile deepened as he saw still further. Argyll might warn the conspirators that the Master was on their track; they might take fright and escape the net spreading for them; so would the Master’s labor go for nothing; the Viscount finally laughed aloud at the thought of the storm there would be when Sir John found himself outwitted; his was the temper that loves to provoke and then standing aside watch the violence aroused in others.
In these pleasant thoughts he was disturbed by the sound of the opening door and the slow entry of Lady Dalrymple.
At sight of him she hesitated.
“Where is Sir John?” she asked.
The Viscount pointed to the folding door. “In there, with my Lord Breadalbane.”