"Spying? . . . Spying, didst thou say?" he exclaimed indignantly. "Fie on thee, Charity, for the thought! Secret service under my Lord Protector 'tis called, and a highly lucrative business too, and one for which I have remarkable aptitude."
"Indeed?"
"Aye! See the manner in which I find things out, mistress. This house now . . . thou wouldst think 'tis but an ordinary house . . . eh?"
His manner changed; the saintliness vanished from his attitude; the expression of his face became sly and knowing. He came nearer to Charity, took hold of her wrist, whilst he raised one finger to his lips.
"Thou wouldst think 'tis an ordinary house . . . wouldst thou not?" he repeated, sinking his voice to a whisper, murmuring right into her ear so that his breath blew her hair about, causing it to tickle her cheek.
She shuddered with apprehension. His manner was so mysterious.
"Yes . . . yes . . ." she murmured, terrified.
"But I tell thee that there's something going on," he added significantly.
"La, Master Busy . . . you . . . you terrify me!" she said, on the verge of tears. "What could there be going on?"
Master Busy raised both his hands and with the right began counting off the fingers of the left.