"What saidst thou was thy name, sir knight?" the captain asked, sitting prone upon the paving stones and rubbing the top of his pate. There went a loud laugh around at his earnest manner of asking the question.
Walking down the steps, Sir Richard stooped, whispering it close to his ear.
"God's mercy upon me!" he shouted, getting as quickly as might be to his feet and winding his great arms about the young knight's neck. Sir Richard at once set again to tugging, bethinking him that they were again to have at it.
"No, no!" shouted the captain, laughing, "I've had my belly full of that—— God! dost thou not know, man? That ship in the offing yonder doth belong to him whose wealth and titles were left all to thee ... are even now thine. Right glad will old Duke Francis be to have me fetch thee back. Thou art of age now, and can claim thy inheritance."
"My benefactor ... who is he?" asked the young knight in an amazed whisper.
"Who is he? Why, he's dead, Sir Richard, these nineteen years ... 'twas the man after whom thou wert named—Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick ... often styled 'king-maker.' But come! come inside," he cried, taking the young knight's arm; "we'll have a bowl or two of sack and a right juicy pasty together, Sir Richard. Let the damned ship wait!"
"But, listen," Sir Richard whispered, "I'm in the direst peril. 'Twould be well an thou couldst get me on board thy ship at once."
Just at that moment they saw de Claverlok, Isabel, and Thomas ride upon the King's Dock out of a side street. Looking away from the river, Sir Richard saw a band of horses, with Douglas at their head, coming above the hill at a breakneck speed.
"Come!" the young knight shouted, clutching the good captain's arm; "do not tarry for thy cap—there's not one tick of the clock to spare."
Which indeed there was not, for they had but just tumbled into the boat and drew clear of the quay when Douglas and his horsemen rode furiously upon it.