“Yes. Has your grace any objection to it?”
His grace waved down the interruption with a dignified wave of the hand, and went on with severe judicial dignity.
“You are the same who shot Lord Ashley between this and the city, some hours ago?”
“I had the pleasure of shooting a highwayman there, and my only regret is, I did not perform the same good office by his companion, in the person of your noble self, before you turned and fled.”
A slight titter ran round the room, and the duke turned crimson.
“These remarks are impertinent, and not to the purpose. You are the murderer of Lord Ashley, let that suffice. Probably you were on your way hither when you did the deed?”
“He was,” said the dwarf, vindictively. “I met him at the Golden Crown but a short time after.”
“Very well, that is another point settled, and either of them is strong enough to seal his death warrant. You came here as a spy, to see and hear and report—probably you were sent by King Charles?”
“Probably—just think as you please about it!” said Sir Norman, who knew his case was as desperate as it could be, and was quite reckless what he answered.
“You admit that you are a spy, then?”