THEIR OWN PETARD
In a lofty， spacious room of the town hall at Taunton sat Sir Edward Phelips and Colonel Luttrell to dispense justice， and with them， flanked by one of them on either side of him， sat Christopher Monk， Duke of Albemarle， Lord-Lieutenant of Devonshire， who had been summoned in all haste from Exeter that he might be present at an examination which promised to be of so vast importance. The three sat at a long table at the room's end， attended by two secretaries.
Before them， guarded by constable and tything-men， weaponless， their hands pinioned behind them - Blake's arm was healed by now - stood Mr.
Westmacott and his friend Sir Rowland to answer this grave charge.
Richard， not knowing who might have betrayed him and to what extent， was very fearful - having through his connection with the Cause every reason so to be. Blake， on the other hand， conscious of his innocence of any plotting， was impatient of his position， and a thought contemptuous. It was he who， upon being ushered by the constable and his men into the august presence of the Lord-Lieutenant， clamoured to know precisely of what he was accused that he might straightway clear himself.
Albemarle reared his great massive head， smothered in a mighty black peruke， and scowled upon the florid London beau. A black-visaged gentleman was Christopher Monk. His pendulous cheeks， it is true， were of a sallow pallor， but what with his black wig， black eyebrows， dark eyes， and the blue-black tint of shaven beard on his great jaw and upper lip， he presented an appearance sombrely sinister. His netherlip was thick and very prominent； deep creases ran from the corners of his mouth adown his heavy chin； his eyes were dull and lack-lustre， with great pouches under them. In the main， the air of this son of the great Parliamentarian general was stupid， dull， unprepossessing.
The creases of his mouth deepened as Blake protested against what he termed this outrage that had been done him； he sneered ponderously， thrusting further forward his heavily undershot jowl.
"We are informed， sir， of your antecedents，" he staggered Blake by answering. "We have learnt the reason why you left London and your creditors， and in all my life， sir， I have never known a man more ready to turn his hand to treason than a broken gamester. Your kind turns by instinct to such work as this， as a last resource for the mending of battered fortunes."Blake crimsoned from chin to brow. "I'm forejudged， it， seems，" he made answer haughtily， tossing his fair locks， his blue eyes glaring upon his judges. "May I， at least， know the name of my accuser？""You shall receive impartial justice at our hands，" put in Phelips， whose manner was of a dangerous mildness. "Depend on that. Not only shall you know the name of your accuser， but you shall be confronted by him. Meanwhile， sirs" - and his glance strayed ārom Blake's flushed and angry countenance to Richard's， pale and timid - "meanwhile， are we to understand that you deny the charge？""I have heard none as yet，" said Sir Rowland insolently.
Albemarle turned to one of the secretaries. "Read them the indictment，"said he， and sank back in his chair， his dull glance upon the prisoners， whilst the clerk in a droning voice read from a document which he took up. It impeached Sir Rowland Blake and Mr. Richard Westmacott of holding treasonable communication with James Scott， Duke of Monmouth， and of plotting against His Majesty's life and throne and the peace of His Majesty's realms.
Blake listened with unconcealed impatience to the farrago of legal phrases， and snorted contemptuously when the reading came to an end.
Albemarle looked at him darkly. "I do thank God，" said he， "that through Mr. Westmacott's folly has this hideous plot， this black and damnable treason， been brought to light in time to enable us to stamp out this fire ere it is well kindled. Have you aught to say， sir？""I have to say that the whole charge a foul and unfounded lie，" said Sir Rowland bluntly： "I never plotted in my life against anything but my own prosperity， nor against any man but myself."Albemarle smiled coldly at his colleagues， then turned to Westmacott.
"And you， sir？" he said. "Are you as stubborn as your friend？""I incontinently deny the charge，" said Richard， and he contrived that his voice should ring bold and resolute.
"A charge built on air，" sneered Blake， "which the first breath of truth should utterly dispel. We have heard the impeachment. Will Your Grace with the same consideration permit us to see the proofs that we may lay bare their falseness？ It should not be difficult.""Do you say there is no such plot as is here alleged？" quoth the Duke， and smote a paper sharply.
Blake shrugged his shoulders. "How should I know？" he asked. "I say I have no share in any， that I am acquainted with none.""Call Mr. Trenchard，" said the Duke quietly， and an usher who had stood tamely by the door at the far end of the room departed on the errand.
Richard started at the mention of that name. He had a singular dread of Mr. Trenchard.
Colonel Luttrell - lean and wiry - now addressed the prisoners， Blake more particularly. "Still，" said he， "you will admit that such a plot may， indeed， exist？""It may， indeed， for aught I know - or care，" he added incautiously.
Albemarle smote the table with a heavy hand. "By God！" he cried in that deep booming voice of his， "there spoke a traitor！ You do not care， you say， what plots may be hatched against His Majesty's life and crown！ Yet you ask me to believe you a true and loyal subject."Blake was angered； he was at best a short-tempered man. Deliberately he floundered further into the mire.
"I have not asked Your Grace to believe me anything，" he answered hotly. "It is all one to me what Your Grace believes me. I take it I have not been fetched hither to be confronted with what Your Grace believes. You have preferred a lying charge against me； I ask for proofs， not Your Grace's beliefs and opinions.""By God， sir， you are a daring rogue！" cried Albemarle.
