“As many as you please, Sir Rowland,” replied Jonathan, resuming his seat. “I'm quite at your disposal.”
“I have a question to propose to you,” said Trenchard, “relating to—” and he hesitated.
“Relating to the father of the boy—Thames Darrell,” supplied Jonathan. “I guessed what was coming. You desire to know who he was, Sir Rowland. Well, you shall know.”
“Without further fee?” inquired the knight.
“Not exactly,” answered Jonathan, drily. “A secret is too valuable a commodity to be thrown away. But I said I wouldn't drive a hard bargain with you, and I won't. We are alone, Sir Rowland,” he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, “and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage.”
“I am at a loss to understand you Sir,”, said Trenchard.
“I'll make myself intelligible before I've done,” rejoined Wild. “I need not remind you, Sir Rowland, that I am aware you are deeply implicated in the Jacobite plot which is now known to be hatching.”
“Ha!” ejaculated the other.
“Of course, therefore,” pursued Jonathan, “you are acquainted with all the leaders of the proposed insurrection,—nay, must be in correspondence with them.”
“What right have you to suppose this, Sir?” demanded Trenchard, sternly.