This was the work
of some French agent. He had made no secret of whence those studs
had come to him.
There his thoughts checked on a sudden. As in a flash of
revelation, he saw the meaning of Lady Carlisle's oddly
contradictory behaviour. The jade had fooled him. It was she who
had stolen the riband. He sat down again, his head in his hands,
and swiftly, link by link, he pieced together a complete chain.
Almost as swiftly he decided upon the course of action which he
must adopt so as to protect the Queen of France's honour. He was
virtually the ruler of England, master in these islands of an
almost boundless power. That power he would exert to the full
this very night to thwart those enemies of his own and of the
Queen's, who worked so subtly in concert. Many would be wronged,
much harm would be done, the liberties of some thousands of
freeborn Englishmen would be trampled underfoot. What did it
matter? It was necessary that his Grace of Buckingham should
cover up an indiscretion.
"Set ink and paper yonder," he bade his gaping valet. "Then go
call M. Gerbier. Rouse Lacy and Thom, and send them to me at
once, and leave word that I shall require a score of couriers to
be in the saddle and ready to set out in half an hour.
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