“He went to Montrose on the track of Logie in November,” said she; “he was sent there to watch his movements before Prince Charles marched to England, and he did so well that he contrived to settle himself under Lord Balnillo’s roof. In three days he returned to me. He had reported on Logie’s movements—I know that—your Highness’s agents can produce his report. But he returned to my house to tell me that, for some fool’s reason, some private question of sentiment, he would follow Logie no longer. ‘I will not go man-hunting after Logie’—those were his words.”
“Madam——” began Cumberland.
She put out her hand, and her gesture seemed to reverse their positions.
“I told him to go—I told him that I would sooner see him dead than that he should side with the Stuarts! He answered me that he could have no part with rebels, and that his act concerned Logie alone. Then he left me, and on his way to Brechin he received orders to go to the Government ship in Montrose Harbour. Then the ship was attacked and taken.”
“It was Flemington’s friend, Logie, who was at the bottom of that business,” said Cumberland.
“He met Logie and they fought,” said Madam Flemington. “I know none of the details, but I know that they fought. Then he went to Edinburgh.”
“It is time that we finished with this!” exclaimed Cumberland. “No good is served by it.”
“I am near the end, your Highness,” said Christian, and then paused, unnerved by the too great suggestiveness of her words.
“These things are no concern of mine,” he observed in the pause; “his movements do not matter. And I may tell you, ma’am, that my leisure is not unlimited.”
It was nearing the close of the afternoon, and the sun stood like a red ball over the mists of the Edinburgh smoke. Cumberland’s business was over for the day, and he was looking forward to dining that evening with a carefully chosen handful of friends, male and female.