“Yes, yes, I remember,” said he; “t'is lady, you have tole us, betray you. Ver' well. But you have not tole us who betray you to t'is lady.” And he looked inquiringly at Blake.
The baronet's jaw dropped; his face lost some of its high colour. He was stunned by the question as the bird is stunned that flies headlong against a pane of glass. He had crashed into an obstruction so transparent that he had not seen it.
“So!” said Feversham, and he stroked the cleft of his chin. “Captain Wentwort', be so kind as to call t'e guard.”
Wentworth moved to obey, but before he had gone round the table, Blake had looked behind him and espied Richard shrinking by the door.
“By heaven!” he cried, “I can more than answer your lordship's question.”
Wentworth stopped, looking at Feversham.
“Voyons,” said the General.
“I can place you in possession of the man who has wrought our ruin. He is there,” and he pointed theatrically to Richard.
Feversham looked at the limp figure in some bewilderment. Indeed, he was having a most bewildering evening—or morning, rather, for it was even then on the stroke of one o'clock. “An' who are you, sare?” he asked.
Richard came forward, nerving himself for what was to follow. It had just occurred to him that he held a card which should trump any trick of Sir Rowland's vindictiveness, and the prospect heartened and comforted him.