"A goodly record, o' my conscience," returned Sir Walter. And glancing towards Hartop he added: "And so thou hast been robbed—eh, my man? Prithee, what might have been the value of your stolen property?"
Hartop hesitated and looked a little confused. At last he said, bowing to Raleigh:
"So please your honour, is it to Sir Walter Raleigh that I do now speak?"
Sir Walter Raleigh nodded. "Yes, I was asking thee the value of thy stolen goods."
"Nay, I know not precisely," answered Hartop. "It might be about the value of five or six hundred pounds in the form of pearls and emeralds and gew-gaws of such sort. But of these I care naught, for there was that in my wallet which I had rather have given my life than lose—a letter addressed to your worshipful self, that I was bidden to give with all speed into your honour's hands. I had thought it was safe in the pocket of my hose until late yesternight, but then I minded that ere I left the ship I put it into my wallet. And 'tis gone—God forgive me, 'tis gone!"
"From Havana, say you?" cried Sir Walter Raleigh doubtingly. "Prithee, who writ it?"
"Captain William Marsden, please your worship."
"Marsden?" echoed Raleigh. "But he is dead. He died ere the Pearl set sail on her homeward voyage. Jasper Oglander told me so. 'Twas of a malarial fever that he died."
Hartop shook his head and rejoined very calmly: "No; so please your worship 'twas not fever. Master Oglander must surely have been misinformed, or else—" He broke off, glancing apprehensively at Lord Champernoun. "Captain Marsden was murdered, your worship, and he writ the letter, knowing beforehand that his life was menaced."