“De Montfort,” said one, “what thinkest thou of it? Can it be that the Queen is right and that Richard lies dead beneath these black waters?”
“No, De Clare,” replied a deep voice, which De Vac recognized as that of the Earl of Leicester. “The hand that could steal the Prince from out of the very gardens of his sire without the knowledge of Lady Maud or her companion, which must evidently have been the case, could more easily and safely have dispatched him within the gardens had that been the object of this strange attack. I think, My Lord, that presently we shall hear from some bold adventurer who holds the little Prince for ransom. God give that such may be the case, for of all the winsome and affectionate little fellows I have ever seen, not even excepting mine own dear son, the little Richard was the most to be beloved. Would that I might get my hands upon the foul devil who has done this horrid deed.”
Beneath the planks, not four feet from where Leicester stood, lay the object of his search. The clanking armor, the heavy spurred feet, and the voices above him had awakened the little Prince and, with a startled cry, he sat upright in the bottom of the skiff. Instantly De Vac’s iron hand clapped over the tiny mouth, but not before a single faint wail had reached the ears of the men above.
“Hark! What was that, My Lord?” cried one of the men-at-arms.
In tense silence they listened for a repetition of the sound and then De Montfort cried out:
“What ho, below there! Who is it beneath the dock? Answer, in the name of the King!”
Richard, recognizing the voice of his favorite uncle, struggled to free himself, but De Vac’s ruthless hand crushed out the weak efforts of the babe, and all was quiet as the tomb, while those above stood listening for a repetition of the sound.
“Dock rats,” said De Clare, and then as though the devil guided them to protect his own, two huge rats scurried upward from between the loose boards, and ran squealing up the dark alley.
“Right you are,” said De Montfort, “but I could have sworn ’twas a child’s feeble wail had I not seen the two filthy rodents with mine own eyes. Come, let us to the next vile alley. We have met with no success here, though that old hag who called herself Til seemed overanxious to bargain for the future information she seemed hopeful of being able to give us.”
As they moved off, their voices grew fainter in the ears of the listeners beneath the dock and soon were lost in the distance.