Colonel Luttrell interrupted him to turn to Richard. "Do you recall those expressions, sir?" he asked him.
Richard winced under the question. Nevertheless, he braced himself to make the best defence he could. "I have not yet heard," said he, "what those expressions were; nor when I hear them must it follow that I recognize them as my own. I must admit to having taken more wine, perhaps, than... than..." Whilst he sought the expression that he needed Trenchard cut in with a laugh. "In vino veritas, gentlemen," and His Grace and Sir Edward nodded sagely; Luttrell preserved a stolid exterior. He seemed less prone than his colleagues to forejudging.
"Will you repeat the expressions used by Mr. Westmacott?" Sir Edward begged.
"I will repeat the one that, to my mind, matters most." Mr. Westmacott, getting to his feet and in a loud voice, exclaimed, "God save the Protestant Duke!"
"Do you admit it, sir?" thundered Albemarle, his eyes glowering upon Richard hesitated a moment, pale and trembling.
"You will waste breath in denying it," said Trenchard suavely, "for I have a drawer from the Bell Inn, and two gentlemen who overheard you waiting outside."
"I'faith, sir," cried Blake, "what treason was therein that? If he..."
"Silence!" thundered Albemarle. "Let Mr. Westmacott speak for himself."
Richard, inspired by the defence Blake had begun, took the same line of argument. "I admit that in the heat of wine I may have used such words," said he. "But I deny their intent to be treasonable. There are many men who drink to the prosperity of the late Kings's son..."
"Natural son, sir; natural son," Albemarle amended. "It is treason to speak of him otherwise."
"It will be a treason presently to draw breath," sneered Blake.
"If it be," said Trenchard, "it is a treason you'll not be long committing."
"Faith, you are right, Mr. Trenchard," said the Duke with a laugh. Indeed, he found Mr. Trenchard a most pleasant and facetious gentleman.
"Still," insisted Richard, endeavouring in spite of these irrelevancies to make good his point, "there be many men who drink daily to the prosperity of the late King's natural son."
"Aye, sir," answered Albemarle; "but not his prosperity in horrid plots against the life of our beloved sovereign."
"True, Your Grace; very true," purred Sir Edward. "It was not so I meant to toast him," cried Richard. Albemarle made an impatient gesture, and took up a sheet of paper. "How, then," he asked, "comes this letter--this letter which makes plain the treason upon which the Duke of Monmouth is embarked, just as it makes plain your participation in it--how comes this letter to be found in your possession?" And he waved the letter in the air.