Just before he reached the bridge, he overtook the tall, dark figure of a man, clothed in a long, close overcoat, in shape not unlike a priest's walking habit. The man tottered and stumbled as he walked, so that the duke was soon abreast to him. And then he discovered the wanderer to be John Potts, valet to the late Sir Lemuel Levison.
The young Duke of Hereward shrunk from this man. He could not bring himself to speak with one whom he could not, in his own mind, clear from suspicion.
He passed the valet, walking quickly, and gaining the bridge.
Then he heard footsteps rapidly following him, and the voice of the ex-valet excitedly calling after him:
"My Lord Arondelle! oh! I beg pardon! Your grace! Your grace! For the love of Heaven, let me speak to you!"
Thus adjured, the Duke of Hereward paused, and permitted the ex-valet to come up beside him.
The wretched man was out of breath, pale, panting, trembling, ready to faint. He tottered toward the bulwarks of the bridge, grasped them, and leaned on them for support.
"What do you want of me, Potts?" inquired the duke.
"Oh, your grace! only to speak to you!" gasped the man.
"What can you have to say to me?" sternly demanded the duke.