seems we have been stalking the cailzie-cock and found a
common thrush."

The dark man Talbot did not smile. "We had good reason to look for
Lovat. Widrington had word from London that he was on his way to the
north by the west marches. Had we found him we had found a prize, for he
will play hell with Mar if he crosses the Highland line. What say you,
Lord Charles?"

The Highlander nodded. "I would give my sporran filled ten times with
gold to have my hand on Simon. What devil's luck to be marching south
with that old fox in our rear!"

The boy pulled up a chair to the table. "Since we have missed the big
game, let us follow the less. I'm for supper, if this gentleman will
permit us to share a feast destined for another. Sit down, sir, and fill
your glass. You are not to be blamed for not being a certain Scots lord.
Lovel, I dare say, is an honester name than Lovat!"

But Talbot was regarding the traveller with hard eyes. "You called him
a thrush, Nick, but I have a notion he is more of a knavish jackdaw. I
have seen this gentleman before. You were with Ormonde?"

"I had once the honour to serve his Grace," said Lovel, still feverishly
trying to devise a watertight tail. "Ah, I remember now. You thought
his star descending and carried your wares to the other side. And who is
your new employer, Mr. Lovel? His present Majesty?"

His glance caught the papers on the table and he swept them towards him.

"What have we here?" and his quick eye scanned the too legible
handwriting. Much was in cipher and contractions, but some names stood
out damningly. In that month of October in that year 1715 "Ke" could
only stand for "Kenmure" and "Ni" for "Nithsdale."

Mr. Lovel made an attempt at dignity.

"These are my papers, sir," he blustered. "I know not by what authority
you examine them." But his protest failed because of the instability of
his legs, on which his potations early and recent had suddenly a fatal
effect. He was compelled to collapse heavily in the arm-chair by the
hearth.

"I observe that the gentleman has lately been powdering his hair," said
the boy whom they called Nick.

Mr. Lovel was wroth. He started upon the usual drunkard's protestations,
but was harshly cut short by Talbot.

"You ask me my warrant 'Tis the commission of his Majesty King James in
whose army I have the honour to hold a command."

He read on, nodding now and then, pursing his mouth at a word, once
copying something on to his own