CHAPTER XV.

Sir George at Westminster.

  Go, let the treacherous throw their darts
   And sore the good malign
  Perjure their conscience, stain their hearts,
   To gain their foul design. 
  Yet shall right triumph at the end;
  And virtue fortune shall defend.

  Anon.

For some time the two noblemen sat in silence, but at length Sir Thomas Stanley looked up and gave the baron some very pleasant news.

“You are safe,” he said.  “You need no longer fear this Nathan Grene, nor Sir Ronald Bury, nor anybody else for the matter of that; you are perfectly safe.”

Sir George Vernon simply opened his eyes and his mouth wide in sheer surprise, and seeing that he made no attempt to speak, Sir Thomas proceeded.

“This is a letter from Grene’s own counsel.  It is of the utmost importance.  Nathan Grene must have been here yesterday.”

“What! at the inn here?  This very inn?”

“Aye! and in this very room.  Here is his signature, dated yesterday.  Maybe he is above even now.”

“Like enough,” said the baron fiercely, and he looked as if he would like to search each separate chamber in the house there and then.

“Listen,” said Stanley, “this is what the lawyer says:  ’I am doubtful if, after all, the prosecution will not fall through.  The summons was issued by your direction against “The King of the Peak,” whereas it ought to have read “Sir George Vernon.”  Warder, who, I hear, is the agent of the Vernon family, will surely recognise this, and if the baron refuses to answer the title contained in the summons, then our case will fall to the ground.  We must hope for the best, as we can do no more.  It is too late to rectify the error now.’”

“Here,” said Sir Thomas, looking up, “the counsellor stops; but our friend Grene has added a few notes of his own, evidently directions to some of his friends.”

“Go on, then,” commanded Sir George impetuously.

“‘We must get Warder out of the way till the trial is over,’ he writes.  ’The ostler here, who brings this message to thee, is in our confidence, and may be trusted.  Meet as arranged to-night.  If we fail at the trial we will have our revenge elsewhere.  I am in danger, and may not meet you yet, but follow Sir Ronald and he will reward you.’”

He stopped reading, for while they had been thus together the household had become astir, and it was evident that someone was about to enter the room in which they were seated.

His conjecture was right, for barely had he paused ere the door was pushed open, and the ostler stepped quickly in, startled indeed to find the library already occupied.  He started to retire, but the baron called him back.

“Come hither, sirrah,” he cried, regardless of his friend’s wiser counsel to desist.