Flora sighed and leaned her forehead against the mottled window pane in the best parlor at the Missing Key. Even though she knew that she could not expect to hear anything about the events at Finchale Abbey for hours, she had been unable to leave the window where she would get the first glimpse of anyone returning to the Missing Key. Flora knew that if the ambush occurred as planned, she might not hear of the events at the Abbey for at least a day. Captain Holt and Mr. Falcon had made it plain that if they were successful in capturing the General or any of the Guardians, the first priority was to bring the captive to the nearest military outpost. Bringing word to the Missing Key would have to wait.

"Is there anything to see?" asked an eager voice behind her. Flora shook her head. She wished that it was Anne that had remained behind with her, but Anne had left to locate Uncle James. Miss Atwell remained with Flora and was proving to be a burdensome companion. Her ongoing monologue about the 'perfidity' of Gareth Cave grated on Flora's nerves. Desperately hoping to avoid a new litany of complaints, Flora determined to speak of something else.

"Where is Lord Dunnett? I have not seen him for some time." In truth, Flora was not much interested in the whereabouts of Lord Dunnett. To her mind, Lord Dunnett had seemed reluctant to involve himself in the doings at Finchale Abbey. 'A coward,' Flora thought and mentally shrugged. If he was, it was better that he remained here, instead of endangering Captain Holt and the others.

"He is about somewhere I suppose. He said he would join us later."

"Oh." Flora squinted into the sunlight. She peered closer at the figure that had just entered the Inn yard and was giving orders to the ostler. "Where is he going?"

"Going? I do not believe that he is going anywhere," Miss Atwell responded. Miss Atwell was striding restlessly about the room, seeking some diversion from the anxiety that gnawed at her.

"He must be, Miss Atwell. He is dressed for riding..."

Mariana hurried to the window and looked out. "Hah! He is leaving. I wonder what he is doing... I must find out. Perhaps I should go with him..." Mariana felt her spirits rise at the prospect of action, rather than remaining idle in the Inn parlor. "I shall find out..."

"Miss Atwell," Flora hurried after her retreating companion, "stop a moment!" But her call went unheeded. That furtive figure in the Inn yard made Flora uneasy. 'Perhaps he is a coward and is fleeing. But why now? Why did he bother to come here at all?' Her footsteps slowed and stopped as she pondered Lord Dunnett's possible motives. Was she being too suspicious? Mayhap he had a very good reason for leaving... Nervously she chewed on her lower lip. 'What would Uncle James do?'

Outside she could hear Miss Atwell's voice raised in laughing complaint, "Why must women stay at home? I would much rather accompany you..."

"Mariana," Lord Dunnett's voice was hoarse, "it would be better..." He broke off as Flora emerged into the Sunlight. The two stared at each other for a moment, Lord Dunnett face was chalky white. Abruptly, he turned away. "If you must, Mariana. Hurry. Riding dress. I'll obtain horses." He glanced furtively at Flora. "You too, Miss Flora." In the ensuing silence, Dunnett heard his own voice sounding strained to his own ears, "We should not be separated."

For a moment, Flora stood paralyzed. 'Traitor or coward?' was the refrain that ran through her brain. She risked a glance at Miss Atwell. 'No help there,' Flora sighed to herself. Miss Atwell was happily agreeing to Lord Dunnett's plans and clearly had no suspicions about his behavior.

"Hurry, Miss Flora," Lord Dunnett said harshly. Flora nodded and turned back into the Inn, still uncertain about what to do. Lord Dunnett was clearly afraid of something... but his desire to leave the Inn might only be a need to take some action, however pointless. And his point about not being alone was valid. But if he was working for the Guardians... should she accompany him?

Flora grabbed a sheet of note paper and hastily wrote a brief note about Lord Dunnett's odd behavior. After a moment's thought, she added a postscript directing anyone that came to the Inn looking for her or Miss Atwell to ride to the nearest military station and obtain assistance in locating Captain Holt or his immediate supervisor. Hastily she changed, making sure that her dagger was well hidden. 'Now Lord Dunnett,' she thought, 'let us see what you are up to!'

After a hour's easy ride across the hills, Flora was beginning to feel ashamed of her suspicions. Lord Dunnett, while not talkative, had indicated that he needed to escape the confines of the Inn and engage in some strenuous physical activity. He did not seem to have any particular destination in mind. Flora was uncharacteristically silent herself, leaving Miss Atwell to provide the dulsatory conversation amongst the group. Miss Atwell speculated upon the success of the planned ambush in Finchale Abbey until Flora's stretched nerves could bear it no longer.

"Please, Miss Atwell! I do not know how Mr. Cave or anyone else is at the moment and I do not see the benefit of speculating!" Flora snapped.

"Well, really!" sniffed Miss Atwell. Ignoring Flora, she turned to Lord Dunnett. "I do not see the harm in talking about it."

Staring ahead, Lord Dunnett was silent. After a brief moment, he pointed toward a small building further up the valley. "There is a croft there. Shall we stop and rest for a moment." Taking the silence of his companions for asset, he increased the horse's pace and rode quickly toward the croft.

As they approached nearer, Flora spoke. "It appears to be abandoned."

"Hmm... it does." Lord Dunnett slowed his horse. "Well, no reason to go there. It is probably a dirty hovel. No place to take ladies."

"Really, Kenneth! You are ridiculous. 'No place to take ladies.' We are not afraid of dirt." Mariana replied.

"But Mariana... well, I'll take a look and see if it is safe. You wait here with Miss Flora."

"Nonsense!" Mariana kicked her horse into a trot and hurried toward the croft. Grinning covertly, Lord Dunnett followed her, shouting at Mariana to stop. This only encouraged Mariana to cover the distance more quickly. Dunnett glanced back quickly and saw that Miss Flora was following. He gave a quick sigh of relief. Mariana would not question anything that he chose to do, but Miss Flora was another matter.

He watched as Mariana hastily dismounted, tying her horse to a low tree in the yard, and hurried toward the entrance to the croft. He slowed allowing Miss Flora to catch up with him and together the two dismounted in the yard. He waited expectantly for Miss Flora to follow Mariana into the croft, but she seemed reluctant to enter. He stepped back and gestured for her to proceed him. After a brief moment, Flora moved toward the entrance calling, "Miss Atwell! Miss At... oh!" Abruptly, she feel forward and Dunnett almost stumbled over her. Flora grasped at his waistcoat as she steadied herself. "My ankle! Oh!" She hopped forward and took a closer grasp on Lord Dunnett.

"Your ankle, Miss Flora?" Really! This was almost too easy! Dunnett abruptly swung her up in his arms. "Let me carry you." Dunnett carried her over the entrance and placed her gently before the hearth in the croft's single room. "Mariana, Miss Flora has hurt her ankle." Mariana turned away from her exploration of the ladder leading to the loft. "Miss Flora! Let me see." As Mariana hurried toward the recumbent Flora, Dunnett quickly backed toward the door. As Mariana turned her startled face toward him, he jumped back over the threshhold and slammed the heavy bar into place, securing the door.

"Damnation!" Flora leaped to her feet and ran across the floor. She rattled the door latched, but the door refused to budge. "Damn! Damn! Damn!" With each shout, Flora pounded on the door but it stayed solid.

"Flora!" Mariana gasped.

Flora stopped pounding on the door. It was far too solid to be effected by her blows. Besides her hands hurt. She turned toward Mariana. "We are locked in."

"Locked in? What do you mean?"

"The door is barred!" Flora nearly shouted, but restrained herself. Taking a deep breath, she continued, more calmly. "It will not move."

"Nonsense!" Mariana exclaimed sharply. "No one bars a door from the outside."

Flora shrugged. "Unless he means to trap someone inside. You are welcome to try." She moved away as Mariana's dimly seen figure, came forward and began rattling the latch.

"Kenneth! Kenneth!" Mariana called. "Please, let us out!" As she continued shouting and calling, Flora seated herself on the hearth and waited patiently for Mariana to realize that Lord Dunnett would not be returning. After several minutes of frantically calling, Mariana began to cry. Flora gently led her back to the hearth where Miss Atwell buried her face in her hands and wept bitterly. "Why did he do that?" she cried. Silently, Flora put her arm around Miss Atwell, but she didn't try to answer the question.

At that moment, Lord Dunnett was hastily riding away leading the other horses. He reflected that it was just like Mariana to insist on accompanying him. Now, having gotten rid of the two persons that could have spoiled his plans, he determined to continue his journey to the nearest coastal town and leave England. The Guardians, he reflected, were making life just a trifle too difficult for him. He had wasted too much time on the demands of the General and endangered people that he truly loved. He had never discovered how the General knew about his work as a Jacobite sympathizer and spy, but the General's knowledge, and threats, had been too real for him to resist. But his unsuccessful attempt to deliver Alistair to the General had gone awry. It was only time before either the General or Alistair confronted him about that fiasco. Of the two, he feared the General more. Once out of the reach of the Guardians, he could openly travel to Rome and declare his allegience to the true King of Great Britain and forget the miserable existence he had been forced to live. But before he left Britain, he promised himself, he would send word to the Missing Key where Mariana and Miss Flora were being held. A day, or two at most, and he would be on his way to France and Mariana and Miss Flora could be freed.

Gareth Cave ducked out of sight and hurried back toward Captain Holt and Mr. Falcon. "There are at least two people still outside the Abbey," he reported in a low tone. "One of them appears to be a woman." Mr. Falcon gave a soft whistle. "Cecily, eh?" Captain Holt nodded curtly in quick comprehension. "Give me a hand, Cave. It looks like Roly is out of action for the time being. This wound is reopened." Gareth hurried to support Fairleigh and was aghast at his ashen color. "It looks bad," Gareth murmured, "we should find Alistair and Mrs. Carlyle and leave this place." Nervously he glanced over his shoulder.

Captain Holt looked up from his inspection of Fairleigh's wound. "My thoughts, exactly. But that won't be easy."

"Mmm," Falcon quickly rebound Fairleigh's wound with clean linen. "Alistair has not returned and between us, we accounted for everyone that entered the Abbey. He's in trouble."

"Cave, move Roly - carefully! ...into a less exposed place. Close to the entrance, if possible, but out of sight of anyone entering... or leaving... the Abbey. Stay with him." Captain Holt leaned closer and placed his hand on the wounded man's head. "Roly..." His cousin's eyes opened briefly. "No heroics, understand?" Jacob's heart sank as Roly briefly nodded and then closed his eyes.

Jacob stepped away and carefully wiped his hands dry on the grass. "Falcon," he said curtly, "I'm going to investigate the Lady Chapel. See what you can find out from this carrion." He prodded at the body of the man that had been mysteriously killed with his foot. "Someone went to the trouble to kill him. See if you can find out who he is."

Falcon sighed. "And why am I left with the handsome job of examining corpses?"

Jacob looked back and grinned briefly. "Why, because it is so unheroic! And you, my friend, have no desire to be a hero. I am merely doing my best to accommodate your wishes."

"Damn you." Falcon said without heat. He watched Holt disappear from sight, taking cover among the ruins of the Abbey. He looked without enthusiasm at the body lying at his feet. Distastefully, Falcon began the unpleasant task of sorting through the dead man's pockets. He expected to find little, but to his surprise, he found a thick memorandum book bound carefully in cloth and wrapped around the body's waist.

"Well, well," Falcon murmured, opening the book, at random, he found that it appeared to be in code, but there were several loose papers. Glancing at the flyleaf, Falcon found the name, "E. Warburton," written with a great flourish. Examining the loose papers more carefully, Falcon discovered they were letters. To his astonishment, Falcon found himself holding letters written by Prince Frederick to Dr. Alistair Eryskn. In increasing bewilderment, Falcon saw that the letters gave the Prince's assurance to Alistair that in return for Jacobite agitation and civil unrest in his struggle with his father, the King, "you may rest assur'd, my dear doctor, that having clm'd the throne of England, I shall not interfere with the crown of S'land unduly, but sh'l leave the right to the throne to be determined by the people of S'land. And, my dear doctor, sh'd it be off'd to me, why! I sh'l gladly acc'pt. But sh'd the throne be off'd to another Ü I sh'l not interfere. But sh'd there be no assistance from the Stuart adherents in my own efforts, I sh'l not let such a offer be made, but sh'l use the entire majesty of my kingdom to compel the allegiance of S'land to the Crown."

Falcon shuddered. These letters constituted an invitation to disaster! Could they be wrong about Alistair? Was it possible that he was working to revive the Stuart claim to the throne? But, if so, why would such letters be found on the body of someone working for the Guardians? An unlikely courier for Prince Frederick. Blackmail? If there letters were discovered, it would mean the immediate arrest of Prince Frederick. Was Alistair being used in a plot to disgrace the Prince? Quickly, Falcon rifled through the memorandum book, looking for more information.

Falcon gave an exasperated sigh. The entire book appear to be in code, however, toward the back, he discovered more loose correspondence. Eagerly scanning it, he saw found a letter and what appeared to be the beginning of a reply to the letter.

Warburton... the letter began abruptly -

Your information regarding my honored father is correct. He is left England. I fail to see, however, that my father's gambling debts (or my own, for that matter!) are your business. The finances of the noble family of Daventry are no concern of a hired man like yourself. Content yourself with worrying about those you are "hired" to help. Your offer of assistance is rejected with the scorn it desires.

And, your threats to Mrs. Andrews are unwarranted and contemptible. In the future, kindly forego your use of Mrs. Andrews as a messenger of your 'orders.'

I take my orders from the General, no other.

I shall know how to deal with you in the future.

Daventry.

Falcon smiled sardonically, reading the bombastic letter. He doubted that Daventry had any clue as to how to deal with his correspondent. Curiously, he turned to the answer.

Daventry...

Your vowels are in my hands. You can redeem them with money or strict adherence to my orders. Or do you wish to be publicly known in London as a dishonorable man? As for your mistress, I know who she is and your role in that little affaire. Do not challenge me again, or I shall make my proof public that "Mrs. Andrews" is really Catherine Perkins Ca...

Frowning, Falcon saw that the letter ended abruptly with a blot of ink, as though the writer had hastily thrown his pen down. Hmm... Falcon unconsciously rubbed his chin. Abruptly he caught himself scratching at the stubble on his beard. Thinking back on his sojourn in Cornwall, Falcon reflected that working for the royal family seemed to have a detrimental effect on his personal appearance. What would Gwen say! He snorted. Probably tell him to stop worrying about his precious appearance and get to work. Daventry, he reflected. Gaming debts and a mistress. Not much to go on. Much better try to find something to help him break the code. He turned back toward the memorandum book.

Suddenly, Cave darted out of his place of concealment near the entrance. "They are coming!" He hissed.

Jacob crept forward cautiously, keeping his back toward protective ruins as much as possible and leaving his sword arm free. The interior seemed completely deserted and the silence pressed against his eardrums. Breathing a silent prayer of thanks that he had fully reconnoitered the ruins, Jacob moved directly toward the Lady Chapel. As he approached, he thought he could hear voices. Straining his ears, he frowned. At least one voice appeared to be raised in anger. He began moving quickly and silently toward the entrance. His instincts screamed at him to stop and listen carefully, but Jacob knew that he did not dare wait. If anyone exited the Lady Chapel, he would surely see him. At the same time, if anyone approached from behind he would also be spotted. Jacob had to get close to the Lady Chapel and determine what was happening. Finally, he halted a few feet from the entrance. Crouched down behind some fallen masonry, Jacob listened.

"You are too hasty, my friend." The voice was cool and well-bred. "It does us no good if this woman as well as the good doctor is unconscious." There was a brief pause and then the voice spoke again, sounding closer to the entrance. "Are you sure this is the right man?"

"Yes!" snarled a second voice. "I have been on this man's trail for days."

"I merely ask because I am not familiar with our friend." A brief silence ensued. "Well, shall we revive him?"

"I think not." The second voice spoke slowly. "This place is too isolated to serve my purpose. It would be better for the body to be found in a more accessible place. Besides, the other actors in our little drama must be brought to their places. As soon as reinforcements arrive, we shall leave."

"What of Eryskn's friends?"

"They are outnumbered. If they have not already been overcome, they will be when Cecily arrives. And anyone that enters this Chapel will discover his mistake."

"Firearms? Nasty things." His companion replied. "Very good, General. You have a destination in mind?"

Jacob slowly began backing away. At the very least, Alistair was unconscious. But it sounded as though they intended to stay put for some time. Entry to the Lady Chapel would be difficult if the General had firearms. He needed at least one other man to help him. As he slipped back toward the entrance, he heard the sound of metal ringing on metal. He increased his pace and burst into the entrance in time to see Falcon neatly disarm Lord Daventry. Gareth Cave was engaged in fierce swordplay with a woman that Jacob recognized as Cecily Tilbury. Even as Jacob raced forward, Cave began to thrust forward under Cecily's guard, but at the last moment, his sword wavered and Cecily was able to parry it. The weight of her sword thrust drove the point of the sword toward the ground and Gareth was knocked off balance. Gareth found that he paid dearly for that hesitation as he feel sideways to land on his hip. His sword was deeply embedded in the ground. Desperately, he tried to roll to his feet, but cried out in shock as he tried to level himself upward, but found his wrist unable to support his weight. Cecily hissed in triumph and stamped forward driving her sword toward Gareth's chest.

With a wordless shout, Jacob launched himself at Cecily. He slammed into the side of her body and her arm moved in an arc across the front of Gareth's body. Gareth jerked back as her sword passed within inches of his face. Cecily stumbled sideways and feel to the ground with Jacob landing in a heap of top of her. Cecily was knocked unconscious as her head banged resoundingly against the paving stone beneath her.

Falcon gave a gasp of laughter as Jacob quickly bounded to his feet, backing away from Cecily. "When did you learn to fly?" He laughed again as he saw Jacob frantically glancing about before snatching up Cecily's dropped sword and holding it menacingly over Cecily's still body. "Oh-ho! Brave lad!" Falcon chortled.

Jacob flushed and allowed his defensive stance to relax slightly. "I don't trust this woman," he grumbled as he moved cautiously towards the recumbent Cecily. He prodded at her carefully before bending down to reassure himself that she was indeed unconscious and not, as he had feared for a moment, dead. Jacob quickly pulled a coil of rope from his pocket and bound Cecily securely. As he prepared to gag her, Daventry (still being detained by Falcon) made a faint protest.

"Stow it," Falcon said briefly, shaking him by the collar. "Shall we tie him up, also?"

Daventry made a faint mewling sound as Falcon dragged him forward. Indeed Daventry was unable to walk under his own power, his limbs still shaking from the realization that he had faced (sword in hand!) the most notorious fighter in England. It had been the most terrifying moment of Daventry's life and he promised himself that he would do anything rather than face Falcon again. Nothing could be so terrible! A few moments later, Daventry felt the hair rising on the back of his neck as Holt and Falcon planned their assault on the Lady Chapel. But offered the choice between helping them bluff their way into the Lady Chapel and facing Falcon's sword, Daventry swallowed and agreed.

Rosemary huddled over Alistair's body protectively. Her fingers had anxiously felt his skull and she was relieved that there appeared to be no break or damage, but his harsh breathing and ashy face were frightening. The planned ambush had appeared to go so well! Then Verten had found her and dragged her back toward the Lady Chapel. When confronted, Alistair had refused to divulge the whereabouts of the emerald. Rosemary had been able to free her knife and slashed deeply at Verten's thigh. As Verten howled in pain and thrust Rosemary away from him, Alistair had leapt forward and grappled with Verten. Even as Rosemary had breathed a sigh of relief that Alistair had managed to overcome Verten, a second figure had emerged from the darkness of the Lady Chapel. For a wild moment, Rosemary thought it was one of their friends, but the middle-aged gentleman's face was unknown to her. Even as she cried out and moved forward, this second man had smashed the pommel of his sword against Alistair's head and knocked him unconscious. Verten had climbed unsteadily to his feet and then deliberately approached Rosemary and slapped her harshly across the face. "You bitch." He said coldly. He had drawn his hand back to strike her again when his companion stopped him.

He had walked away, allowing Rosemary to pull Alistair's head onto her lap. Sitting with her head bowed, she listened carefully, hoping to discover some information that would help them. Suddenly her head jerked up as a voice called from outside.

"It's Daventry," the voice quavered. "Anyone there?"

Rosemary began to silently weep. If this Daventry were free, it must mean all their friends had been captured.

"At last," Verten, or the General as the other man had called him, muttered. Raising his voice, he shouted impatiently. "Get in here and bring help."

There was a momentary pause. "I've got two of my men with me." The sounds of people approaching could be heard. As Rosemary looked up hopelessly, she saw a slender young man enter the Lady Chapel, closely followed by two other men. Rosemary gasped as she recognized Captain Holt and Mr. Falcon. Neither looked at her. Daventry, closely followed by Falcon began to move toward the right, while Holt moved toward the left.

For a moment, there was complete silence. Then the General's companion snarled, "Falcon! It's a trick!"

August Falcon's head whipped around and he gasped, "Collington!" Daventry managed to twist away from his slackened grasp and whirled toward the entrance. With a strength born of desperation, he thrust out his hand and pushed at Falcon, wanting only to prevent that madman from stopping his flight. Falcon had already forgotten him, and was waiting for the Earl of Collington to approach, his sword ready. As Daventry pushed him, Falcon stumbled. Even as he recovered his balance and moved toward his opponent, he saw that both Collington and the General had abandoned their swords and held pistols, holding himself and Holt at bay.

Alistair began to painfully awake. His head ached, but when he tried to move to ease the pain, he found himself unable to move. Uttering a groan, he carefully opened one eye. A sweet face filled his vision. To his surprise, he saw that Rosemary was crying. "Oh, Alistair."

"Don't cry." He managed to mutter painfully. He tried to reach up and touch her smooth cheek, but to his bewilderment, he found he could not move his arms.

"Dearest, do not try to move." Rosemary's voice was low.

"Perhaps he should try to move," Alistair recognized the peevish voice as belonging to Falcon, "I would be much obliged if he would get off me." Alistair immediately made an effort to sit up and heard a muffled groan from beneath. "Oh,yes, the King's service is hard indeed." Falcon said. He managed to shift his weight and Alistair found himself sitting on the floor of a coach, partially leaning against the recumbent Falcon. Glancing around, he saw the Rosemary was seated upright on the nearest coach seat, but that her hands were bound to one of the seat straps. Jacob Holt was half sprawled across the opposite seat and half on the floor.

"What happened?" Alistair said stupidly. "Where are we?"

"What happened?" Jacob said dully. "We were neatly caught. Where are we? In a coach, going heaven knows where."

"Where are the others?" Alistair wondered.

"Gareth and Roly were left behind as of no use." Falcon said flatly. "And no," he continued, answering Alistair's unspoken question, "there was no sign of your brother."

Jacob's head jerked up. "Are we stopping?" He shook his head, trying to clear it. Rosemary strained forward to peer out the window. The curtains had been drawn, but by leaning forward, she could just manage to see through a crack in the curtains. "I don't see anything," Rosemary reported. "Oh wait! I think... yes, there is a building outside."

The coach came to a halt.

At the General's direction, the men stumbled into the abandoned croft. Once inside, their legs were quickly rebound. In order to prevent any "tricks," each man was carefully covered by the General while making the solitary trip into the croft. Rosemary was brought in last, carried by Daventry and dropped roughly on the ground.

Rafe Green gave a sigh of satisfaction. His plans had been altered by this day's activities, but the unexpected appearance of Holt and Falcon was a delightful addition to his plan. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. Turning toward Holt, he sighed. "A pity you are not in uniform. It would give a certain tone to the whole affair. But," he continued briskly, "it cannot be helped. After all, a soldier killed in the line of duty is killed in the line of duty regardless of uniform."

Holt stiffened. "You do not intend to kill us all, do you?" Alistair asked sharply.

The General turned with his gleaming smile on Alistair. "Why, only yourself, Captain Holt and . . . yes, and Falcon, too." He glanced toward Rosemary. "But Mrs. Carlyle is necessary for my plans in London."

He chucked at Alistair's scowl. "You are too predictable, doctor. But my plans for Mrs. Carlyle are not that simple." He glanced outside. "You see, before Mrs. Carlyle left Plymouth so abruptly, I had planned for her to join Cecily in London. Why, you ask?" He stopped and prodded Alistair with his boot. "I'm sure you ask why. Don't you?" He drew back his foot and kicked Alistair in the ribs. Alistair's breath exploded out of his chest. As he lay on the floor, he saw Verten's boot draw back again.

"Mr. Verten!" It was Rosemary's voice. "Why? Why did you want me to go to London?"

The General's boot paused in mid-air and then touched the ground as Verten turned toward Rosemary. "Shall I answer?" He mused aloud. "Of course, Mrs. Carlyle, you shall know. After all, you may still assist Cecily and I." He smiled at her. Rosemary felt her stomach lurch as he directed the full force of his smile on her. "Why, you see, encouraged by Cecily, you would be known to have contacted various military personnel to secure some annual income. Surely a stipend for a young woman left a widow by her husband's untimely death in India is not too much to ask from the military authorities. And perhaps you would visit the offices of the British East India Company to find out where various acquaintances now reside. Or perhaps to send mail. Any reason would suffice." He turned back to address his bewildered audience. "Because you see, there must be some link between Captain Robert Carlyle and the British East India Company in London and military headquarters in London. 'Why?' you ask. Why, how else would letters showing that Prince Frederick corrupted the military in India, be found in London?"

"My husband? Are you saying my husband... supported the Prince?" Rosemary gasped.

"Really, Mrs. Carlyle! You become absurd." He shook his head. "Your husband's opium habits were far too distracting for his own good. I would never have trusted such a man. You see," he continued patiently, "no such conspiracy exists. But, once the forged letters from Captain Carlyle detailing the India support for the Prince's take over are found Ü and found in the possession of your acquaintences, Mrs. Carlyle Ü who shall doubt it?"

"Who would believe such a far fetched scheme?" Captain Holt broke the stunned silence.

"Of course, people might be dubious," the General agreed.

"That is where your assistance, my dear Captain, will be invaluable. For you see," his smiling glance took in Falcon and Alistair, "once it is discovered that Dr. Eryskn Ü a known Jacobite sympathizer Ü is in correspondence with Prince Frederick regarding rebellion, who shall wonder at the civil unrest that will follow?"

"All this for the downfall of Prince Frederick?" Falcon asked astonished.

"You are as absurd as Mrs. Carlyle," the General replied coldly. "The downfall of Prince Frederick is merely the beginning. Can you just imagine," he continued dreamily, "the uproar in London when the Prince is brought to trial for treason? The government will never have encountered such a crisis... It will be our opportunity."

Alistair and Holt glanced uneasily at each other. The King's dislike for his heir was well known. It would not be difficult to persuade him to act harshly. Even if the truth became known later, it would be a golden opportunity for the Guardians to wreck havoc.

"But you want to know your role." The General's voice was full of malice. "Really, Dr. Eryskn, your have been invaluable to me. Already rumor-mongers, encouraged by my agents, whisper about your treasonous activities continuing after your, ah, departure from the military. I had intended for you to be arrested further south and for compromising letters from Prince Frederick to be found on your person. But this is better, much better." He chuckled gleefully. "An artistic death for yourself Ü perhaps you bled to death after nearly being captured by the valiant Captain Holt and his comrade, Mr. Falcon. Who, alas, are killed in trying to stop you. Both the Captain and Mr. Falcon are, I might add, known adherents to the King. Once the Captain's military book, outlining your plot and the damning letters are found Ü in a week or two perhaps Ü I shall be ready to spring my trap in London. Oh, and the emerald, of course. Payment from Prince Frederick." He shrugged. "A beautiful plan."

"Once Mr. Warburton arrives, all the pieces shall be put in place." He exited the building.

"It is only too plausible," Holt groaned. He struggled against the ropes that bound his arms and legs. A rustle from above was accompanied by a soft whisper. "Captain Holt!" Jacob stared upward in astonishment. "Good God... Flora!" he breathed.

Flora began hurrying down the ladder from the loft. She approached him, and disdaining modesty pulled up her skirts to reveal a knife strapped to her lower thigh. To Captain Holt, she was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. And he didn't mean her lower limbs, either.

Lord Dunnett sauntered down to the nearest wharf. He was nearly free. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that caution still mattered. He did not want to be conspicuous or for anyone to remember that a casually dressed man had obtained passage to the Continent. First, he would obtain a passage; then, he cast a knowledgeable eye at the tide, he should have time for a meal. He put his hand into his waistcoat pocket, but to his horror, it was empty. After a frantic search, he was forced to conclude that it was gone... lost. Or stolen. He frowned. No one had approached him closely during his walk through the streets, he had made sure of that. In fact... Dunnett's jaw sagged as he suddenly realized what Flora had done...

Falcon took a deep breath. He began kicking at the croft door and shouting. "Hey, General! General! It's too late! Warburton is dead." He raised his voice further. "Dead! Ask Daventry!"

He stopped and outside, he could hear the thin wail of Daventry's voice. Abruptly it stopped. The others in the croft tensed in anticipation. Footsteps could be heard rushing up the path...