I shrugged my shoulders. “The times are against you. The Stuarts have dropped out of the race. The mill cannot grind with the water that is past.”
“And if the water be not past?” asked Leath fiercely.
“Mar found it so in the ’15, and many honest gentlemen paid for his mistake with their heads. My father’s brother for one.”
“Mar bungled it from start to finish. He had the game in his own hands and dribbled away his chances like a coward and a fool.”
“Perhaps, but even so, much water has passed under London Bridge since then. It is sixty years since the Stuarts were driven out. Two generations have slept on it.”
“Then the third generation of sleepers shall be wakened. The stream is coming down in spate,” said Balmerino.
“I hear you say it,” I answered dryly.
“And you shall live to see us do it, Mr. Montagu. The heather’s in a blaze already. The fiery cross will be speeding from Badenoch to the Braes of Balwhidder. The clans will all rise whatever,” cried Donald Roy.
“I’m not so sure about Mr. Montagu living to see it. My friends O’Sullivan and De Vallery seem to think not,” said Creagh, giving me his odd smile. “Now, I’ll wager a crown that——”
“Whose crown did you say?” I asked politely, handing him back his smile.