“What else, my lord, in all our interests?” exclaimed the Secretary, and he rose in his agitation.
“And what of British justice, sir?” demanded his lordship in a forbidding tone.
“British justice has reason to consider itself satisfied. British justice may assume that Count Samoval met his death in the pursuit of his treachery. He was a spy caught in the act, and there and then destroyed—a very proper fate. Had he been taken, British justice would have demanded no less. It has been anticipated. Cannot British justice, for the sake of British interests as well as Portuguese interests, be content to leave the matter there?”
“An argument of expediency, eh?” said Wellington. “Why not, my lord! Does not expediency govern politicians?”
“I am not a politician.”
“But a wise soldier, my lord, does not lose sight of the political consequences of his acts.” And he sat down again.
“Your Excellency may be right,” said his lordship. “Let us be quite clear, then. You suggest, speaking in the name of the Council of Regency, that I should suppress all further investigations into the manner in which Count Samoval met his death, so as to save his family the shame and the Council of Regency the discredit which must overtake one and the other if the facts are disclosed—as disclosed they would be that Samoval was a traitor and a spy in the pay of the French. That is what you ask me to do. In return your Council undertakes that there shall be no further opposition to my plans for the military defence of Portugal, and that all my measures however harsh and however heavily they may weigh upon the landowners, shall be punctually and faithfully carried out. That is your Excellency’s proposal, is it not?”
“Not so much my proposal, my lord, as my most earnest intercession. We desire to spare the innocent the consequences of the sins of a man who is dead, and well dead.” He turned to O’Moy, standing there tense and anxious. It was not for Dom Miguel to know that it was the adjutant’s fate that was being decided. “Sir Terence,” he cried, “you have been here for a year, and all matters connected with the Council have been treated through you. You cannot fail to see the wisdom of my recommendation.”
His lordship’s eyes flashed round upon O’Moy. “Ah yes!” he said. “What is your feeling in this matter, ‘O’Moy?” he inquired, his tone and manner void of all expression.
Sir Terence faltered; then stiffened. “I—The matter is one that only your lordship can decide. I have no wish to influence your decision.”