Udal's arms flew above his head; his eyes started from their sockets; his tongue came forth from his pale mouth to lick his dry lips, and his legs failed him so that he sat himself down, wavering from side to side in the window-seat.
'Then the commentary of Plautus shall never be written,' he wailed. He wrung his hands. 'Whom have they taken else?' he said. 'How knew ye these things when I nothing knew? What make of house is this where such things be known?'
'Husband,' she answered, 'this house is even an inn. Where many travellers pass through, many secrets are known. I know of this cook's fate since the fate of cooks is much spoken of in kitchens, and this was the cook of a Frenchman, and this is France.'
'Save us, oh pitiful saints!' the magister whispered. 'Who else is taken? What more do ye know? Many others have aided. I too. And there be friends I love.'
'Husband,' she answered, 'I know no more than this: three days ago the cook stood where now you stand——'
He clasped his hair so that his cap fell to the ground.
'Here!' he said. 'But he was in the Tower!'
'He was in the Tower, but stood here free,' she answered. Udal groaned.
'Then he hath blabbed. We are lost.'
She answered: