Yet
desperately he clung to the fragments of it. The envoy's secretary
must be at fault.
"'Tis yourself are at fault, Sir Walter, in that you trust those
about you," the Frenchman insisted.
Sir Walter stared at him, frowning. "D'ye mean Stukeley?" quoth
he, half-indignant already at the mere suggestion.
"Sir Lewis, he is your kinsman." De Chesne shrugged. "You should
know your family better than I. But who is this Manourie who
accompanies you? Where is he come from? What you know of him?"
Sir Walter confessed that he knew nothing.
"But I know much. He is a fellow of evil reputation. A spy who
does not scruple to sell his own people. And I know that letters
of commission from the Privy Council for your arrest were give'
to him in London ten days ago. Whether those letters were to
himself, or he was just the messenger to another, imports
nothing. The fact is everything. The warrant against you exists,
and it is in the hands of one or another of those that accompany
you. I say no more. As I have tol' you, you should know your own
family. But of this be sure, they mean that you go to the Tower,
and so to your death. And now, Sir Walter, if I show you the
disease I also bring the remedy.
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