Four ill-looking men, Jacks in office, entered, and behind them two faces appeared, whose owners preferred to stay without; the one was the valet of Sir John Redfyrne, the other Nicholas Grabber.
The two constables whom he had so grievously aspersed fixed their eyes upon the priest.
“So it was thou, was it, who kept us waiting?”
“Your pardon, if I mistook you; doubtless you have good cause for your untimely errand.”
“We have pulled down monks, and your turn may come next,” said the surly John Sprygs, “and then you may not have the chance of taking sober folks’ reputation away; but enough of this, where is that young rascal, Cuthbert Hodge, if that is his name, we have a warrant for his apprehension?”
“Why, he has been away ever since November.”
“But came home to-night; here is the witness. Nick Grabber, when didst thou last see Cuthbert Hodge?”
“This evening, riding with another lad through the common gate, on the Langport Road.”
“And does thy worshipful father permit thee, now thy school days are over, to spend thy time in Glastonbury as a spy?” said old Hodge.