"But how - how do we destroy him?" quoth Justin, who suspected
yet dared not encourage his suspicions.

"How? Do you ask how? Is't not plain?" snapped Sir Richard,
and what he avoided putting into words, his eloquent glance
made clear to his companion.

Mr. Caryll rose a thought quickly, a faint flush stirring in
his cheeks, and he threw off Everard's grasp with a gesture
that was almost of repugnance. "You mean that I am to enmesh
him . . . ."

Sir Richard smiled grimly. "As his majesty's accredited
agent," he explained. "I will equip you with papers. Word
shall go ahead of you to Ostermore by a safe hand to bid him
look for the coming of a messenger bearing his own family
name. No more than that; nothing that can betray us; yet
enough to whet his lordship's appetite. You shall be the
ambassador to bear him the tempting offers from the king. You
will obtain his answers - accepting. Those you will deliver
to me, and I shall do the trifle that may still be needed to
set the rope about his neck."

A little while there was silence. Outside, the rain, driven
by gusts, smote the window as with a scourge. The thunder was
grumbling in the distance now. Mr. Caryll resumed his chair.
He sat very thoughtful, but with no emotion showing in his
face. British stolidity was in the ascendant with him then.
He felt that he had the need of it.