One man in particular had sought to attach himself to him, a man a few years older than himself, a certain Duke del Pineda.
Pineda was a handsome-looking fellow who bore himself well, dressed immaculately, and was received at Court and by the best society. Unquestionably, so far as birth and antecedents were concerned, he was a Spanish Grandee of the first water. And his manners were charming.
But, all the same, there were certain whispers about him. To begin with, it was well-known that he was impecunious. And a Spanish duke, like an English one, is always looked at askance when he is suspected of impecuniosity. A Duke has no reason to be short of ready money.
Stonehenge, who had watched the growing intimacy between the two men, spoke to Rossett one day about it.
“You seem very great friends with Pineda, I observe, Guy.” The Ambassador had fallen into the habit of calling him by his Christian name.
Rossett looked at his chief squarely. “Yes, sir, we go about a good deal together. Of course, you have a reason in putting the question.”
“He is not on the list of ‘suspects’ you gave me.”
Guy smiled quietly. “No, but I think he will be very soon.”
Mr Stonehenge gave a sigh of relief. “I see you know your business. I don’t know that Pineda has yet definitely decided, but he will swim with the tide. If there is a revolution he will try to lead it, like Mirabeau. In the meantime, he keeps in with both parties.”
“I have led him on to a few disclosures already,” observed Rossett.