“Well, well, well,” he said, “if the varlets have taken nought else I wish them joy of their bargain, and ’tis well it’s no worse. By ’r Lady, ’tis a foul thing to break into a man’s house, and we shall see what the Master of the College will say to the watch.”
“I’ll find the poor beast, if he be still alive,” said Hugh, with a choke in his voice, “wherever they’ve bestowed him. ’Tis Peter’s work!”
He was rushing out when Bassett checked him.
“Softly, softly,” he said, “prudence may do more than valour in this case. Let us ask a few questions to begin with. Master John, at what time came you back?”
“At four o’ the clock, and found the door open—thus, and the tankard of ale I had left emptied. The scurvy knaves! But there’s no virtue left in the watch since Master Simpkins got the upper hand, and hath upset all the ancient customs.”
Scarce restraining Hugh’s impatience, his father made inquiries at some of the houses round, and ended at last in gaining information. Goody Jones was sick of a fever, and her little grandchild, playing at bob-apple before the door with another, had seen Peter, the smith’s son, and two other boys, whom she named, go into the sacristan’s house. Pressed to say whether she saw them come out again, she said nay. Her grandam had called her, and she had run in.
Link the first was therefore established.
Hugh was for rushing at once to Peter, and forcing the rest out of him, but Bassett counselled more wary walking.
“’Tis a deep-laid plot,” he said, “and it were best to meet craft by craft. Besides, if they are accused, they may kill the poor beast to save themselves and spite thee. Let us go out to the fair, and maybe we shall pick up some tidings.”
It was dreadful to Hugh to behold Peter in the distance, and to be restrained from falling upon him, and the fair had quite lost its charm, though the noise and stir had increased. Costard-mongers were bawling apples—red, white, and grey costards—at the top of their voices; pig-women inviting the passers-by to partake of the roast pig which smoked on their tables; tooth-drawers and barbers, each proclaiming his calling more loudly than the other. The abbot of a neighbouring monastery had his palfrey surrounded by a group of clothiers, while a fool in motley was the centre of another group. Among these the wood-carver spied a sturdy yeoman, the same Dick-o’-the-Hill who had opposed the cobbler earlier in the day. It struck him that here was a man for his purpose, and he managed to extract him from the others, and to tell him what they were seeking. Honest Dick-o’-the-Hill scratched his head.