His Majesty was sitting in the very same place where he sat before, with his chair wheeled about, so that he faced three men.  One of them I knew at once, for my cousin had pointed him out to me in the park—­my Lord Danby, who was Lord Treasurer at this time—­and he was sitting at the end of the great table, nearest to the King:  on the other side of the table, nearer to me as I entered, were two men, upon whom I had never set eyes before—­one of them, a little man in the dress of an apothecary or attorney; and the other a foolish-looking minister in his cassock and bands.  All four turned their eyes upon me as I came in, and then the two who were standing, turned them back again towards His Majesty.  There was a heap of papers on the table below my Lord Danby’s hand.

His Majesty made a little inclination of his head to me, but said nothing, putting out his hand; and when I had kissed it, and stood back with the other two, he continued speaking as if I were not there.  His face had a look, as if he were a little ennuye, and yet a little merry too.

“Continue, my Lord,” he said.

“Now, doctor,” said my Lord, in a patient kind of voice as if he encouraged the other, “you tell us that all these papers were thrust under your door.  By whom were they thrust, do you think?”

“My Lord, I have my suspicions,” said the minister; “but I do not know.”

“Can you verify these suspicions of yours, do you think?”

“My Lord, I can try.”

“And under how many heads are they ranged?” asked the King, drawling a little in his speech.

“Sir; they are under forty-three heads.”

The King rolled his eyes, as if in a droll kind of despair; but he said nothing.

“And you tell me—­” began my Lord; but His Majesty broke in: 

“Mon Dieu!” he said; “and here is good Mr. Mallock, come here hot-foot, and knows not a word of the proceedings.  Mr. Mallock, these good gentlemen—­Doctor Tonge, a very worthy divine and a physician of the soul, and Mr. Kirby, a very worthy chymist, and a physician of the body—­are come to tell me of a plot against my life on the part of some of my faithful lieges, whereby they would thrust me swiftly down to hell—­body and soul together.  So that, I take it is why God Almighty hath raised up these physicians to save me.  I wish you to hear their evidence.  That is why I sent for you.  Continue, my Lord.”

My Lord looked a little displeased, pursing up his mouth, at the manner in which the King told the tale; but he said nothing on that point.

“Grove and Pickering, then, it appears, were to shoot His Majesty; and Wakeman to poison him—­”

("They will take no risks you see, Mr. Mallock,” put in the King.)

“Yes, my Lord,” said Tonge.  “They were to have screwed pistols, with silver bullets, champed, that the wounds may not heal.”

("Prudent! prudent!” cried the King.)