"Ah, then, I pray you name the murderous villain," quoth the Duke, with mocking emphasis upon the last two words, and also, as it seemed, with some relief at finding that it was not he.
I paused a moment, thinking swiftly, and, while I did so, Ferguson sat there below me in an agony of guilty fear. I knew it by the way he gnawed the feather of his pen and hooked his long thin legs together.
What, then? If I denounced him on the spot, who would believe me? No one; for what proof had I to offer? None. Again, if I drew a pistol suddenly and shot him (as I could have done), I knew my fate was sealed. The wild, benighted crowd behind, who looked upon him as a miracle of strength and godliness, would kill me in a twinkling. Therefore:
"No, by your leave, my lord," I said, "I will not name him now. This is no place for doing so, nor would it serve my purpose just at present. Time and other things will surely name him quick enough."
An angry growl ran through the room, and things looked ugly; but at that moment a man I knew leaned over Ferguson and whispered quickly in his ear. The chaplain nodded eagerly; then, turning to the Duke, said:
"By your leave, my lord, I understand the matter fully now. This poor young fellow" (here he waved his pen at me, but did not dare to look) "lost his father suddenly this morning, and doubtless such a shock hath----" he tapped his head and added: "Yes, ’tis plain enough."
"Ah! if that be true----" began the Duke in no unkindly voice.
"’Tis true in part, my lord," I broke in scornfully, "as far as it regards my loss, that is. The other is rank folly. I vow my head is quite as sound and clear as this your godly chaplain’s. For the rest, I would repeat my warning. Scripture hath fluttered somewhat freely here to-night, therefore, I pray you, let me add my quota to it, namely: ’Beware of those who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly are ravening wolves’. Yea, have a care, my lord. I wish you well."
With that I bowed, took one last look at Ferguson, then, passing through the crowd, went forth as I had come, and left them to their own devices.
Being in no mood for conversation, I turned towards the kitchen regions, hoping thus to slip out unobserved, except by servants, with whom there was no need to traffic. Kind fortune favoured me in this respect, for, save a hot, perspiring scullion, I met no one, and so I gained my quiet, lonely street again without the utterance of a word.