"I know not the man by either the names he goeth by; neither Skene nor Cleeve," said another.
"It is not likely you should," said the first, with a twinkle of his grey eyes, "that are inquest-man of this wardmote, and brother to a canon."
I stepped close to the man had spoken last, and, doffing my cap, said: "Sir, I am but just arrived in this town, but overhearing something of that hath been made mention of betwixt you, I imagined that I heard the name of one Cleeve in question."
"You did," said the merchant; "Cleeve or Skene, for 'tis all one. But, why? Do you know the fellow?"
"It is my own name," I replied modestly; "at least, Cleeve is, and so if you were inquiring after me, I am here to serve you."
A great laughter moved the whole party at my seeming ingenuousness, and the merchant replied—
"No, no, honest Mr. Cleeve; go your ways and keep your innocence. But this other Cleeve is one grown old in treachery; a harbourer of Jesuits and Spanish spies, against whom a writ runs for his immediate attachment, and upon whose crafty head there is a price set."
"Is he escaped away then?" said I.
"He hath no settled habitation," replied one that held a paper in his hands, upon which he continually looked, "but was last seen at a certain great ruined house over against the Galley Quay, from which he is now fled, no man knows whither. But from manifest evidence it appeareth he is engaged in deep and secret designs against the State, in which moreover he works not singly."
"Now, I marvel how, if his abode were so positively known and his conduct anyways dubious, he came to be allowed such freedom to go in and out, as the sequel shows was done," I returned with some study of resentment.