“But this plot is no sham plot,” cried Rotherby, with the faintest show of heat, out of patience with the other's deliberateness. “It is a very real danger, as I can prove to his lordship.”
“It is for the purpose of ascertaining that fact,” resumed the second secretary, entirely unruffled, “for the purpose of ascertaining it before taking any steps that would seem to acknowledge it, that my Lord Carteret has desired me to wait upon you—that you may place me in possession of the circumstances that have come to your knowledge.”
Rotherby's countenance betrayed his growing impatience. “Why, for that matter, it has come to my knowledge that a plot is being hatched by the friends of the Stuart, and that a rising is being prepared, the present moment being considered auspicious, while the people's confidence in the government is shaken by the late South Sea Company disaster.”
Mr. Templeton wagged his head gently. “That, sir—if you will permit the observation—is the preface of all the disclosures that have lately been made to us. The consolation, sir, for his majesty's friends, has been that in no case did the subsequent matter make that preface good.”
“It is in that particular, then, that my disclosures shall differ from those others,” said Rotherby, in a tone that caused Mr. Templeton afterwards to describe him as “a damned hot fellow.”
“You have evidence?”
“Documentary evidence. A letter from the Pretender himself amongst it.”
A becoming gravity overspread Mr. Templeton's clear-cut face. “That would be indeed regrettable,” said he. It was plain that whatever the second secretary might display when the plot was disclosed to him, he would display none of that satisfaction upon which Rotherby had counted. “To whom, sir, let me ask, is this letter indited?”
“To my late father,” answered his lordship.
Mr. Templeton made an exclamation, whose significance was not quite clear.