In the library—the door, and that of the ante-room beyond it, carefully closed—his lordship unlocked a secretaire of walnut, very handsomely inlaid, and, drawing up a chair, he sat down to the perusal of the king's letter. When he had read it through, he remained lost in thought a while. At length he looked up and across towards Mr. Caryll, who was standing by one of the windows.
“You are no doubt a confidential agent, sir,” said he. “And you will be fully aware of the contents of this letter that you have brought me.”
“Fully, my lord,” answered Mr. Caryll, “and I venture to hope that his majesty's promises will overcome any hesitation that you may feel.”
“His majesty's promises?” said my lord thoughtfully. “His majesty may never have a chance of fulfilling them.”
“Very true, sir. But who gambles must set a stake upon the board. Your lordship has been something of a gamester already, and—or so I gather—with little profit. Here is a chance to play another game that may mend the evil fortunes of the last.”
The earl scanned him in surprise. “You are excellent well informed,” said he, between surprise and irony.
“My trade demands it. Knowledge is my buckler.”
His lordship nodded slowly, and fell very thoughtful, the letter before him, his eyes wandering ever and anon to con again some portion of it. “It is a game in which I stake my head,” he muttered presently.
“Has your lordship anything else to stake?” inquired Mr. Caryll.
The earl looked at him again with a gloomy eye, and sighed, but said nothing. Mr. Caryll resumed. “It is for your lordship to declare,” he said quite coolly, “whether his majesty has covered your stake. If you think not, it is even possible that he may be induced to improve his offer. Though if you think not, for my own part I consider that you set too high a value on that same head of yours.”