"Well, 'tis the same thing, sweet. Gaol or shed, 'tis prison enow, and i' faith, I see not how it be possible to fetch her out."
"Pooh! What is the use of thy wits, Rob, if thou canst not get the better of father's old wool-shed."
"Master Lane's shed, sayest thou?"
"Aye, truly, she is there. Dad told me so this morning. The door bolted and barred, sentries in the street without, and many more in the guardhouse opposite. I saw them there last Sunday when I passed. But what of them. You can surely outwit such fudge-heads as they."
"Master Lane's shed," cried Robert again, a strange note of excitement in his voice. "Art certain she is there?"
"Aye, certain, Rob. What then?"
"Prue, who guards the little door in Blind Man's alley?"
Prue looked at him eagerly.
"What door, Rob? I mind it not."
"Yes, thou knowest it. The master's private door at the near end of the shed. They say 'twas put there years ago for old Master Lane, thy grandfather, to enter secretly and count his bales; maybe for the entrance of other sorts of goods,—folks say. For 'tis known he hid arms and ammunition for the king's troops in the last war. It has not been used for years, and on the inside 'tis still hid behind a pile of sacks, I doubt not. But 'tis there."