“To-night, your majesty. That is the reason the nobles of your court were making sly haste to his domicile.”
“Ah, and Sir David Lyndsay was hurrying to the same spot so blindly that he nearly overran his monarch.”
“It is even so, your majesty.”
“Then am I hindering you from much profit, and you must even blame yourself for being so long in the telling. However, it is never too late to turn one bonnet-piece into two. So, Davie, lead the way, for I would see this alchemist turn out gold from a pot as a housewife boils potatoes.”
“I fear, your majesty, that the doors will be shut.”
“If they are, Davie, the king’s name will open them. Lead the way; lead the way.”
The doors were not shut but were just on the point of closing when Sir David put his shoulder to them and forced his way in, followed closely by his companion. The king and his henchman found themselves in a small ante-room, furnished only with a bench and a table; on the latter was a yellow heap of bonnet-pieces of the king’s own coinage. Beside this heap lay a scroll with the requisites for writing. The money-taker, a gaunt foreigner clad in long robes like a monk, closed the door and barred it securely, then returned to the table. He nodded to Sir David, and glanced with some distrust upon his plaid-covered companion.
“Whom have you brought to us, Sir Lyndsay?” asked the man suspiciously.
“A friend of mine, the Master of Ballengeich; one who can keep his own counsel and who wishes to turn an honest penny.”
“We admit none except those connected with the court,” demurred the money-taker.