"Why," she said presently, "'twill be that!" "'Twill be what, ma'am ?" asked Rotherby, looking up.
"Why, this fellow Caryll must ha' bubbled the messenger in spite of the search he may have made.

I found the popinjay here with your father, the pair as thick as thieves--and your father with a paper in his hand as fine as a cobweb.

'Sdeath! I'll be sworn he's a damned Jacobite." Rotherby was on his feet in an instant.

He remembered suddenly all that he had overheard at Maidstone.

"Oho!" he crowed.