His plans had succeeded only far too well.

Sir John Foterell was dead--a crime, no doubt, but necessary, for had the knight lived to reach London with that evidence in his pocket, his own life and those of many others might have paid the price of it, since who knows what truths may be twisted from a victim on the rack?
Maldon had always feared the rack; it was a nightmare that haunted his sleep, although the ambitious cunning of his nature and the cause he served with heart and soul prompted him to put himself in continual danger of that fate.
In an unguarded moment, when his tongue was loosed with wine, he had placed himself in the power of Sir John Foterell, hoping to win him to the side of Spain, and afterwards, forgetting it, made of him a dreadful enemy.

Therefore this enemy must die, for had he lived, not only might he himself have died in place of him, but all his plans for the rebellion of the Church against the Crown must have come to nothing.
Yes, yes, that deed was lawful, and pardon for it assured should the truth become known.

Till this morning he had hoped that it never would be known, but now Jeffrey Stokes had escaped upon the ship _Great Yarmouth_.
Oh, if only he had seen him a minute earlier; if only something--could it have been that impious knave, Jeffrey?
he wondered--had not struck him so violently in the back and hurled him to the boat, where he lay almost senseless till the vessel had glided from them down the river! Well, she was gone, and Jeffrey in her.

He was but a common serving-man, after all, who, if he knew anything, would never have the wit to use his knowledge, although it was true he had been wise enough to fly from England.
No papers had been discovered upon Sir John's body, and no money.
Without doubt the old knight had found time to pass them on to Jeffrey, who now fled the kingdom disguised as a sailor.