He looked up at me sharply.
"You do not know, Mr. Mallock?"
"Before God," I said, "I have no more idea what the pother is about than—"
"Well, shortly," he said, "it is treason."
"Treason! Why—"
He leaned forward and took up a pen, to play with as be talked.
"I will tell you the whole thing from the beginning," he said. "You must have patience. An hour ago a clerk came to me here from the Board of the Green Cloth to tell me that the magistrates desired my presence there immediately on a matter of the highest importance. I went there directly and found three or four of them there, with Sir George Jeffreys whom they had sent for, it seemed, as they did not know what course to pursue, and had thought perhaps that I might throw some light upon it. They were very grave indeed, and presently mentioned your name, saying that a charge had been laid against you before one of the Westminster magistrates, of having been privy to the Ryehouse Plot."
"Why—" cried I, with sudden relief.
He held up his hand.
"Wait," he said, "I too laughed when I heard that; and gave them to understand on what side you had been throughout that matter, and how you had been in His Majesty's service and that I myself was privy to every detail of the affair. They looked more easy at that; and I thought that all was over. But they asked me to look at papers they had of yours—"