“But will this not free Lord Farquhart?” asked the deferential voice.
“How can it free him, fool?” demanded the roaring voice. “How could I prove that the fellow I met was not the devil trying to save one of his own brood? And would there not be fools a-plenty to say that I’d met no one, that I’d invented the tale to save myself from the devil’s clutches, if I freed Lord Farquhart on such evidence? The whole affair from the beginning has savored of the devil’s mixing. Who else would have driven his majesty on to demand such hot haste against the fellow? ’Tis all most uncanny and most unwholesome. I’ll be thankful, for one, when my part in it’s over.”
“I wonder on what we wait. ’Tis surely long after ten o’clock!”
It was Ashley’s voice that made this statement loud enough for all the room to hear, loud enough to penetrate even to Lord Grimsby’s ears; loud enough to force that timorous jurist back into a judicial calm.
It was then that Lord Farquhart’s lips parted in a second smile. It was then that some fifty hands sprang to their swords, for there were fifty gentlemen there who resented Ashley’s unseemly eagerness to hurry on Lord Farquhart’s fate.
“And ’tis like the devil, too, to make me finish his black work,” commented Lord Grimsby’s natural voice, ere his judicial voice took up the opening formalities of the sentence he was to pronounce.
’Twas well known that the crown left naught to the court save the announcement of the crown’s decree. Thus was Lord Grimsby hiding himself behind his majesty, the king, in order to protect himself from his majesty, the devil, when he was interrupted by a commotion that would not be downed, by the cries of silence from the court’s servants.
“I tell you I must speak! I will be heard! I will speak! Will you all stand by and hear an innocent man sentenced to be hanged merely for the sake of custom, of courtesy to the court; merely on a question of privilege to speak? I should have been here before. I was detained. Now I will speak. I will be heard, I say. Will be, will be, will be!”
It was a girl’s voice that rang out sharp and clear. To Lindley it seemed faintly familiar, and yet the girl who spoke was a stranger to him; a stranger, apparently, to everyone in the room. She stood in front of Jack Grimsby. It was Jack Grimsby she was haranguing. She was, evidently, a woman of rank and quality, for she carried herself as one accustomed to command and to be obeyed. She was gowned in blue velvet, and her russet hair, drawn high in a net—a fashion in favor in France—was shaded by a blue velvet hat, over which drooped heavy white plumes. A thin lace mask veiled her eyes. Only her small, red mouth and delicate chin were visible.
“Is an oath nothing to you, then?” she cried, impetuously, still addressing Jack Grimsby. “You’ve sworn to do all in your power to save this highwayman. Now is your chance! Gain me but five minutes and I’ll have Lord Farquhart freed from, this absurd charge against him.”