“I would not have taken it,” said Wat hotly.
“I had rather it had been in thy hands than in Roger’s.”
“Roger, goodman!” cried Wat, starting forward. “Not that traitor?”
“Peace, peace! I am as grieved as thou, but we know not that he is a traitor.”
“Ay, by my troth, but I do!” Wat persisted, “and so shall they all. Where is Warden Hamlyn?”
“Nay, I know not. It is not long since he was here,” answered Elyas, surprised. “What hast thou in thy mad head? Bethink thee, Wat, we do Hugh but harm to bring charges which we cannot prove, and though it was a foul act to cut that ladder—”
“It is not the ladder, goodman,” cried Wat, earnestly. “Thou wast ill, and we did not tell thee of the other villainy. Hast thou looked at Roger’s corbel?”
“Ay,” with surprise.
“Is it new to thee?”
“Nay, I seemed to know every twist of the ivy. But I thought—my memory plays me scurvy tricks since my illness—I thought, though I could not call it to mind, that Roger must have brought it to me to ask my counsel. Surely it was so?”