"Thirty guineas?" hiccoughed Richard. "It was only eight. Anyhow - wait'll
I've sli' the gullet of's Mr. Wilding." He checked on a thought that
suddenly occurred to him. He turned to Vallancey with a ludicrous
solemnity. "`Sbud!" he swore. "`S a scurvy trick I'm playing the Duke.
`S treason to him - treason no less." And he smote the table with his
open hand.

"What's that?" quoth Blake so sharply, his eyes so suddenly alert that
Vallancey made haste to cover up his fellow rebel's indiscretion.

It's the brandy-and-Canary makes him dream," said he with a laugh,
and rising as he spoke he announced that it was high time they should
set out. Thus he brought about a bustle that drove the Duke's business
from Richard's mind, and left Blake without a pretext to pursue his
quest for information. But the mischief was done, and Blake's
suspicions were awake. He bethought him now of dark hints that Richard
had let fall to Vallancey in the past few days, and of hints less dark
with which Vallancey - who was a careless fellow at ordinary times - had
answered. And now this mention of the Duke and of treason to him - to
what Duke could it refer but Monmouth?

Blake was well aware of the wild tales that were going round, and he
began to wonder now was aught really afoot, and was his good friend
Westmacott in it?

If there was, he bethought him that the knowledge might be of value,
and it might help to float once more his shipwrecked fortunes. The
haste with which Vallancey had proffered a frivolous explanation of
Richard's words, the bustle with which upon the instant he swept Richard
and Sir Rowland from the house to get to horse and ride out to