I was going on to order the sentence to be carried out, when the innkeeper flung himself again upon his knees, and cried out loudly—­as much to my astonishment as to the regret of the bystanders, who were bent on seeing so strange a shoeing feat—­“One word, my lord; I can give you no joke, but I can do a service, an eminent service to the king.  I can disclose a conspiracy!”

I was somewhat taken aback by this sudden and public announcement.  But I had been too long in the king’s employment not to have remarked how strangely things are brought to light.  On hearing the man’s words therefore—­which were followed by a stricken silence—­I looked sharply at the faces of such of those present as it was possible to suspect, but failed to observe any sign of confusion or dismay, or anything more particular than so abrupt a statement was calculated to produce.  Doubting much whether the man was not playing with me, I addressed him sternly, warning him to beware, lest in his anxiety to save his heels by falsely accusing others, he should lose his head.  For that if his conspiracy should prove to be an invention of his own, I should certainly consider it my duty to hang him forthwith.

He heard me out, but nevertheless persisted in his story, adding desperately, “It is a plot, my lord, to assassinate you and the king on the same day.”

This statement struck me a blow; for I had good reason to know that at that time the king had alienated many by his infatuation for Madame de Verneuil; while I had always to reckon firstly with all who hated him, and secondly with all whom my pursuit of his interests injured, either in reality or appearance.  I therefore immediately directed that the prisoners should be led in close custody to the chamber adjoining my private closet, and taking the precaution to call my guards about me, since I knew not what attempt despair might not breed, I withdrew myself, making such apologies to the company as the nature of the case permitted.

I ordered Simon the smith to be first brought to me, and in the presence of Maignan only, I severely examined him as to his knowledge of any conspiracy.  He denied, however, that he had ever heard of the matters referred to by his brother, and persisted so firmly in the denial that I was inclined to believe him.  In the end he was taken out and Andrew was brought in.  The innkeeper’s demeanor was such as I have often observed in intriguers brought suddenly to book.  He averred the existence of the conspiracy, and that its objects were those which he had stated.  He also offered to give up his associates, but conditioned that he should do this in his own way; undertaking to conduct me and one other person—­but no more, lest the alarm should be given—­to a place in Paris on the following night, where we could hear the plotters state their plans and designs.  In this way only, he urged, could proof positive be obtained.