The Duke in a tone of much surprise acknowledged that he had guessed rightly.
"Well, it was a pretty dilemma," said the King with a sort of gusto. "And where is M. FitzJames in hiding?"
"At Dr. Lloyd's in Hogsden Gardens," my lord answered. But he could not conceal his gloom.
"He must be arrested," said the King. "A warrant must be issued. Will you see to it with the others?"
My lord assented; but with such a sigh that it required no wizard to discern both the cloud that hung over him, and also that now he had done what Ferguson had dared him to do, the consequences lay heavy on him. The King, after considering him a moment with a singular expression, between amusement and reproach, broke the silence.
"See here, my lord," he said with good nature. "I will tell you what to do. Sit down now, and here, and write a line to Monsieur, bidding him begone; and send it by a private hand, and the warrant by a messenger an hour later."
The Duke stared at the King in astonishment. "But he will escape, sir," he faltered.
"So much the better," the King answered indifferently. "If we take him what are we to do with him? Besides, to tell you the truth, my lord, he did me a great service eight years ago."
"He, sir?"
"Yes," said the King smiling. "He induced his father to fly the country, when, if he had stayed--but you know that story. So do you warn him, and the sooner he is beyond La Manche the better."