“Have they said aught of noises in the night?”

“No, my lord.”

“They sleep deep in their little gallery. But then… any who prowl about the house would not come for them. Jesus! I shall be glad when we leave this house. I like it not. I shall leave it tomorrow.”

“My lord,” said Taylor in a whisper, “there is someone on the stairs.”

Darnley was out of bed. Taylor had seized his wrap and would have put it about him, but Darnley was at the door.

“Quick, Taylor. We must get out of this house. They come to murder me.”

“Your robe, my lord.”

But Darnley could not wait. He drew Taylor behind the door just as it was being cautiously pushed open; and two men came stealthily into the room.

They did not see the two behind the door and, as they approached the bed, Darnley, with Taylor behind him, speedily ran down the staircase and out into the garden.

Darnley heard someone cry: “After them!”

He recognized the voice as that of Archibald Douglas.

The cold night air made him gasp as it cut across his lightly covered body; he was wearing nothing but his nightgown. Dark figures moved toward him; he was caught and held in strong arms.

He gasped: “You… you could do this to a kinsman!” He was weak from his illness, but it was surprising what strength there could be in a sick man when he was fighting for his life. A damp rag was slipped across his mouth. He could scarcely breathe. He smelled vinegar as he fell unconscious to the grass.

Taylor was being suffocated by the same methods. Before he died he heard a voice ask: “Shall we take them back?”

“Nay,” came the answer. “They’re too heavy and time is short. We must be well away from Kirk-o’-Field in ten minutes’ time. Leave them here. They’re near enough to the house and there’ll be no trace of them by morning.”

STEALTHY FIGURES moved about the house.

The plans had gone awry. Darnley and his man, Taylor, were to have been strangled in their room. There was no time to take them back. There was only time to put a safe distance between the conspirators and the house in Kirk-o’-Field. They started toward Holyrood, but before they reached the palace they heard the roar of the explosion. The citizens were running out of their houses. The guards of the palace saw men with blackened faces entering it; and there was one of these whose bulk betrayed him; and on the night that Darnley was murdered and the house in Kirk-o’-Field blown sky-high, Bothwell was seen by many with his guilt upon him.

THE QUEEN was startled out of her sleep by the explosion. She rose in her bed crying out in terror. Seton was beside her.

“What is it, Seton?” demanded Mary. “What is it?”

Seton answered: “I know not.” And she ran to the window. “It looks like a great fire. The sky is brilliant and there is much smoke.”

“Where, Seton, where?”

Mary was now beside her at the window. She knew before she looked that the explosion had occurred in Kirk-o’-Field. Her teeth chattered and her body shook as with an ague.

Five

THERE WAS TUMULT THROUGHOUT EDINBURGH. THE CITIZENS were in the streets. There was speculation throughout the palace.

Bothwell had to be roused from slumber by his servants. He appeared to be sunk in a deep sleep, though he lay in his bed still dressed and with the grime on his clothes and face.

“Jesus!” he cried, rushing to the window. “What is this? It would seem as though the city is ablaze. ’Tis an explosion, I’ll warrant, somewhere near Kirk-o’-Field.”

He rode out with his followers.

“Keep clear of the fire, good people,” he cried. “Stand back and keep your distance.”

The good people of Edinburgh looked at him, and looked quickly away. Rumor traveled fast.

The guards of Holyrood had already whispered that one of those who came hurriedly into the palace soon after the explosion was Lord Bothwell himself.

IN THE DAWN LIGHT men searched the spot. The house was now a smoldering ruin. How explain the mighty explosion which had rent the place? Was it gunpowder? Explosives could easily have been stored in the crypt. And who had done this? Who would have dared stack gunpowder below a house in which the Queen’s husband lay sick?

Two men were certainly suspected of foul play! Bothwell who had been seen returning by the guards, and Archibald Douglas whose shoe had been found, marvelously intact, close to the ruins.

But there was a discovery yet to be made. The charred bodies of three servants had been found by those who searched, but where were the bodies of the King and Taylor? Could they have been completely destroyed?

It was not long before they were found. They were lying in the garden, in their nightgowns. Beside them was Darnley’s velvet gown as though it had been dropped hurriedly.

It was certain that the explosion had not touched them, but nevertheless they lay lifeless on the grass—most mysteriously dead. The plot became clear now. Darnley and Taylor had been murdered and the explosion which had been arranged to hide the crime had completely failed to do so.

All Edinburgh was aroused to indignation. Who murdered the King? was the question to which the citizens were determined to find an answer.

THE QUEEN was numb. She did not know how to act. The whole of Scotland was talking of the murder of the King. Soon the whole world would be talking. The murderers must be found, said the people. But could Mary join with them when she knew that the murderer-in-chief was her lover?

Bothwell swaggered about the town with thousands of his men within call. No one dared show his suspicion if he had any respect for his life.

The Queen should have been plunged in mourning; but instead she was merely dazed. She took no measures for twenty-four hours to bring the murderers to justice. How could she? She was too deeply concerned. Edinburgh knew it. All Scotland knew it. And the news was being carried with all speed to England and the continent of Europe.

“You must do something,” said Seton. Poor Seton was aghast. She knew too much, yet she could not believe that her beloved mistress would have agreed to the murder of her husband. Yet Seton knew that Bothwell could do what he wished with Mary; she knew that Mary was in love with her husband’s murderer.

“What can I do?” said Mary. “I wish I were dead. I wish I were in Darnley’s place.”

“You must do something to show the people that you wish for justice,” Seton implored. “You must show them that you wish this crime to be solved.”

Mary broke into hysterical laughter which ended in sobbing.

THE NEXT morning there were crowds at the Tolbooth reading the placards which had been affixed there during the night.

The biggest of these bore the inscription: “Who is the Kings murderer?” And beneath it was a drawing of Bothwell.

There were other placards. One said: “The King’s murderers are Lord Bothwell …” and there followed a list of servants—Mary’s servants—and among them was David’s brother Joseph Rizzio.

The implication was clear. Bothwell was the murderer-in-chief, but the Queen’s servants had helped him in his crime.

Bothwell came to see the Queen. Without asking permission he dismissed her attendants. He showed greater arrogance than ever now, being sure of his power. He was the most powerful man in Scotland, for the Queen was his to command. His eyes gleamed with excitement. He was unafraid though he knew himself to be in constant danger. He was ready to face all the lords of Scotland, all the judges. He was completely sure of himself. But they must plan carefully now, he warned. It was inadvisable for the Queen to stay in Edinburgh. The people were growing restive. Darnley should without delay be laid in the royal vault.