hey came to land at last, just below Greenwich bridge, and almost at
the same moment the other wherry grounded immediately above them. Men
sprang from her, with the obvious intent of cutting off their retreat.

"Too late!" said Ralegh, and sighed, entirely without passion now that
the dice had fallen and showed that the game was lost. "You must act on
my suggestion to explain your presence, Lewis."

"Indeed, there is no other course," Sir Lewis agreed. "And you are in
the same case, Captain King. You must confess that you joined with me
but to betray Sir Walter. I'll bear you out. Thus, each supporting the
other..."

"I'll roast in Hell before I brand myself a traitor," roared the Captain
furiously. "And were you an honest man, Sir Lewis, you'ld understand my
meaning."

"So, so?" said Stukeley, in a quiet, wicked voice. And it was observed
that his son and one or two of the watermen had taken their stand beside
him as if in readiness for action. "Why, then, since you will have it
so, Captain, I arrest you, in the King's name, on a charge of abetting
treason."

The Captain fell back a step, stricken a moment by sheer amazement. Then
he groped for a pistol to do at last what he realized he should have
done long since. Instantly he was overpowered. It was only then that Sir
Walter understood the thing that had happened, and with understanding
came fury. The old adventurer flung back his cloak, and snatched at his
rapier to put it through the vitals of his dear friend and kinsman. But
he was too late. Hands seized upon him, and he found himself held by the
men from the wherry, confronted by a Mr. William Herbert, whom he knew
for Stukeley's cousin, and he heard Mr. Herbert formally asking him for
the surrender of his sword.

Instantly he governed himself, repressed his fury. He looked coldly at
his kinsman, whose face showed white and evil in the growing light of
the early summer dawn "Sir Lewis," was all he said, "these actions will
not turn out to your credit."

He had no illusion left. His understanding was now a very full one. His
dear friend and kinsman had played him false throughout, intending first
to drain him of his resources before finally flinging the empty husk to
the executioner. Manourie had been in the plot; he had run with the hare
and hunted with the hounds; and Sir Walter's own servant Cotterell had
done no less. Amongst them they had "cozened the great cozener"--to use
Stukeley's own cynical expr