De Lacy shook his head.

“Killed him?”

“Nor that, either—­he escaped me.”

“Damnation! . . .  However it is better than that he die with tale untold.”

“That is my only consolation.  Yet I shall kill him whene’er the chance be given, tale or no tale.”

“Where did you see the knave?”

“At Sheffield—­and with whom, think you?”

“This whole matter has been so mysterious I cannot even guess,” said De Wilton.

“And wide would you go of the clout if you did,” De Lacy replied, as he flung a short gown about his shoulders and turned toward the door.  “It was Lord Darby.”

“Darby!  Darby! . . .  Mon Dieu, man! are you quite sure?”

Aymer laughed shortly.

“Methinks I am quite sure,” he said.  “And now I must away to the King.”

“So you have come back to us at last,” said Richard graciously, as De Lacy bent knee; “but I fear me, without your lady.”

“Aye, Sire, without her.  It is your business that has brought me.”

“Pardieu!” the King exclaimed; “we gave you leave indefinite.  Until you were willing to abandon the search you need not have returned.”

“Your Majesty misunderstands.  No vain notion of being needed here has brought me; but danger to your crown and life—­Buckingham is traitor—­Richmond lands this day week as King.”

“So!  St. Paul!  So!” Richard muttered, gnawing at his lower lip.  “At last . . . at last . . . and earlier by six months than I had thought. . .  Yet, better so; it will be ended all the sooner. . .  Where did you get this news and how?”

“At Sheffield, last night.”

“Last night!—­When did you leave Sheffield?”

“At daybreak.  The rain and darkness delayed me until then.”

“By St. George! plead no excuse.  It was an amazing ride in such weather.”

“I made bold to use the post horses; but it was heavy labor even for them.”

“And for you as well, my good De Lacy.  This King thanks you—­perchance the next one will not,” and he laughed queerly.

“It is this King I serve; not the next one.”

“I believe you,” said Richard, putting his hand on Aymer’s shoulder.  “Now let me hear the story.”

And De Lacy told it in the fewest words he could; making no mention of Flat-Nose or Darby.

For a while Richard sat quiet, pulling at his chin.

“What a miserable scoundrel Stanley is,” he said presently.  “He refuses Stafford because he scents failure ahead; and is ready to make capital of a trusting friend by betraying him to his doom.  For well he sees that Buckingham has gone too far to recede.  I would he had stood with them,—­his own scheming Countess and Buckingham.  Then I could have wiped all of them out at one blow.”  He struck the bell.  “Summon the Master of Horse,” he ordered.

“Ratcliffe,” he said, when the latter entered, “Buckingham revolts on the eighteenth; Richmond lands in England that same day.  Dispatch instantly to the Lord Chancellor for the great seal, and have commissions of array drawn.  Let messengers start with the sun to all the royal domains and summon hither every man who can wield a sword or draw a bow.  What’s the weather?”