“Egad, I hope there are no more of that opinion!”

“You have to remember that I know something of you. But I’m in the dark. What possessed Letty to elope a second time? I could have sworn she had not a jot of tenderness left for Markham.”

Robin frowned. “There’s more to it than that,” he said.

It was at this moment that my Lord Barham swept into the room. My lord waved a hand in recognition of Sir Anthony, but swooped upon his son. “My Robin!” he cried. “Superb! A time-thrust worthy of myself! I have the whole from John. I knew I might rely on you!”

Sir Anthony cast up his eyes, and retired to the fireplace. “I might have known!” he said. “Of course I should have known!”

My lord’s eagle eye was upon him. “I assume this gentleman to be in your confidence, my children. I admit him into mine. Sir Anthony, you behold in my son a master-swordsman. I permit myself to take pride in him. A time-thrust — the most dangerous, difficult thrust of all! I kiss your hands, my Robin! I remember that I taught you that pass.”

“The honours would appear to be divided,” murmured Sir Anthony, unable to repress a twinkle. “Sir, I am wholly at a loss. I wish some one would enlighten me. Do I understand that you planned this affair, my lord?”

My lord was surprised. “But can you ask?” he said.

“I suppose there is not the need. But I should like to know how you had wind of the elopement.”

My lord gazed at him. “Wind of it? I planned it!” he said magnificently.

The smile died on Sir Anthony’s lips; he stopped twirling his quizzing-glass. He opened his mouth to speak, and shut it again, as though he could find no words.

“You amaze the large gentleman, sir,” said Robin dryly. “I am not altogether surprised.”

Sir Anthony swung round. “Were you in this?” he asked, and there was that in his voice which made Prudence grimace oddly. “Am I to believe you were party to such a scheme?”

“Acquit me, kind sir. My indignation almost equalled yours.”

Sir Anthony looked at him a moment, and appeared to be satisfied. He turned back to my lord, who was still dwelling fondly on his son’s prowess. “You must explain a little further, sir, if you please. I suppose you had some reason for this.”

The compelling gaze rested on him. “Certainly!” said my lord. “Be very sure of it. I regard the whole affair as one of my chefs d’oeuvres.”

“Do you indeed?” Sir Anthony was again sardonic. “Make it plain to me, sir. I beg of you! I am unable to appreciate it at present.”

Prudence interposed. “You had best be frank with Tony, sir. He knows us for escaped Jacobites.”

My lord appeared to censure the term. “My child, I live in the present, not in the past. Not even I could save the Prince’s affairs from being bungled: I reject his whole cause. It was a venture not worthy of me. Do not call me a Jacobite.”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” Prudence bowed. “Say then only that Sir Anthony knows the truth concerning us.”

“I deplore the indiscretion,” said my lord. He became reproachful. “Never divulge more than is necessary, my Prudence. Surely I taught you that lesson many years ago!”

“To be frank, sir, the gentleman had already guessed it.”

Robin arose from his seat by the window. “No matter. The whole scheme was complicated beyond your imagination, Sir Anthony.”

“Subtle,” amended his lordship.

“Tortuous, sir. You’re to know, Fanshawe, that my father was unwise enough to set his name to a certain treasonable letter.”

“An indiscretion,” said my lord. “I admit it. But it was not my own name, Robin. Do not forget that.”

Sir Anthony was surprised. “I had not thought that of you, my lord. It seems unlike you.”

My lord was at once benevolent. “You are blessed with a good understanding, my dear sir. I have admitted an indiscretion. One is sometimes carried away by one’s enthusiasms. You see that even I can make mistakes. A lesson may be learned from that.”

“Give me leave, sir,” interrupted Robin. “This letter, Sir Anthony, came into the hands of the late Mr Markham, who thought to sell it to my father at a fabulous price. You take me?”

Sir Anthony nodded. “There’s a ray of daylight,” he said.

“There shall be more. My father held in his possession a letter writ by Sir Humphrey Grayson, containing half-promises to help the Prince’s cause. It does not surprise you?”

“Only that your father should have the letter. The rest I knew.”

“Then there is nothing in the world to surprise you. When you know my father better you will know that he would of course hold the letter.”

“Don’t cry God forfend, sir!” Prudence said on a chuckle. “Spare our filial feelings!”

My lord held up his hand. “My daughter, Sir Anthony must surely realise that it is a privilege to know me.”

Sir Anthony’s mouth twitched at the corners. “I wonder if Markham thought so?” he said. “Proceed, Robin. I begin to understand.”

“My father, sir, exchanged letters, and that is all there is to it. He assures me that there were at least a dozen other ways of getting Markham’s paper from him, but this one appeared to him to be the neatest.”

“Of course,” said his lordship. “It needs no explanation. I was able thus to rid myself for ever of my Munich friend, and to present my son to Miss Grayson in the role of a hero. I surpassed myself.” He became aware of Sir Anthony’s wondering gaze upon him, and waved his handkerchief gracefully. “You are spell-bound. I expected it. You can never before have seen my like.”

“Never, upon my honour!” said Sir Anthony emphatically.

“And you never will again, my son,” said his lordship with a touch of vicarious regret.

“Thank God fasting,” advised Robin.

Sir Anthony laughed suddenly. “No, it is a privilege,” he said. “I would not forego your acquaintance, sir, for the worlds. My horizon broadens every hour.”

My lord smiled graciously. “That was inevitable,” he said. “It could not be otherwise.”

Sir Anthony walked to the window and back again, struggling with varied emotions. At last he turned, and made a gesture of despair. “Sir, you demoralise me. Until the privilege of knowing you was conferred upon me I protest I led a sober life, and my opinions were all respectable. I find myself walking now in your train, sir, caught up in I know not what lawless schemes, and I perceive with horror that the day approaches when I shall be lost to all sense of propriety and order.”

My lord acknowledged a compliment. “I had once some acquaintance with a Jesuit father,” he said reminiscently. “That was in the days of my youth. I profited by it. Yes, I learned some few things.”

“More than the Jesuit father taught you, I’ll lay my life,” said Robin.

“Yes,” admitted his lordship. “But then, my son, his brain had its limits.”

“Have you limitations my lord?” asked Sir Anthony.

My lord looked at him seriously. “I do not know,” he said, with a revealing simplicity. “I have never yet discovered them.”

Came my Lady Lowestoft into the room in a fine bustle.

Her sharp eyes darted from one guest to the other. “Tiens! Such a party!” She untied the strings of her mantle, and cast it from her. “Robert, I know very well you have done some wickedness! Your children of a certainty did not visit friends at Barnet last night.” She pointed an accusing finger. “It is my belief Robin killed the Markham — by your orders, Robert! It is a scandal! a madness! I gasp at it!”

“A time-thrust,” nodded my lord. “Superb!”

“What’s that? What is it, a time-thrust?” cried my lady.

“You would not understand, my dear Thérèse. It is to lunge as your opponent lunges — you may judge how ticklish! — to parry his blade as you come through, and to pass on with not the smallest check to — the heart, was it not, my son?”

“Then it is true!” said my lady. She seemed to have no interest in the brilliance of Robin’s sword play, unlike Sir Anthony, who was looking at Robin with an appraising, marvelling eye. “Good God, Robert, what shall come of this?” She pounced on Sir Anthony. “And you! Do not tell me you had a hand in this too!”

“Alack, ma’am, no.”

My lady put her hands to her temples. “The head turns on my shoulders. Of a certainty we are all mad!” She sat down weakly. “You want to end at Tyburn, all three?” she demanded.

“I’m inclined to think the honour of being executed on Tower Hill must be conferred upon the old gentleman at least,” said Prudence. “Tyburn might do for us, I suppose.”

“You are ridiculous, Thérèse.” My lord was severe. “What have the Merriots to do with duels and masked men?”

“I may be ridiculous,” said my lady, “but this I say! the sooner you end this masquerade the better now. Mark me well! We will retire to Richmond, my children. Then if the wind of suspicion should blow your way — eh, but Robert shall send word, and you vanish!”

“I will go further than that,” interposed Sir Anthony. “I’ve to visit my sister, Lady Enderby, in Hampshire next week. I desire to take Mr Merriot along with me.”

Prudence shook her head. My lord rose, and picked up his hat. “Do not meddle in my plans,” he advised them all. “Go to Richmond if you will, but await there my orders. It is not possible that suspicion should fall upon my son.”

He was right thus far, but he had reckoned without Miss Grayson. Prudence, summoned to make a deposition, could tell the gentlemen of the Law very little. Her evidence was admirably given; nothing could exceed the tranquillity of her bearing, nor the frankness of her replies. She was complimented on her share of the night’s work, disclaimed gracefully, and departed.