Markham, to be sure, was very loth to tell his story. But once upon the track of it, Grisewood was not a man to be gainsaid. On a pretence of being able to tell far more than he knew, he drew the main particulars, word by word, out of the reluctant falconer. Thus he learned the manner of Gervase Heriot’s escape, and how the fugitive was roaming the country-side in the company of Sir John Feversham’s daughter.
This was high and strange news for Grisewood. Indeed, Markham was one of the very few who knew this fact. Not even the Queen herself was aware of it.
Had Markham been in a mood less desperate, he would not have divulged the share of his young mistress in the prisoner’s escape. But this man had affected to know far more of the matter than, in point of fact, he did know; besides, the falconer did not see how any words or any act of his could make the affair more terrible than it was. His one desire was to overtake the fugitives in order that he might inform his young mistress of her father’s dire peril. This was neither more nor less than the morbid craving of an overburdened conscience. It would not be at his instance even if Gervase Heriot was given up to justice. His wish was merely to make known to the prisoner all that had occurred, and then leave any further action in his hands. By this means the falconer hoped to rid himself of the stain of his master’s blood.
As soon as Grisewood had heard the falconer’s story he brought the whole force of his cunning mind to bear upon the matter.
“You say, my friend, this traitor and Sir John’s young daughter in a boy’s dress are roaming the country in the guise of gypsies?”
“That I do,” said Markham.
Grisewood strove to amplify in his mind a picture the falconer’s story had conjured up in it. At last he was able to do this.
“By God’s life!” he said, “that was the pair of vagabonds I saw in the company of that accursed play-actor at the tavern door on the morning I came here.”
“Why do you call him accursed?” said Markham, remembering with a pang that this player was a man in whom he had already confided.
“Why do I call him accursed?” said Grisewood. “All the world knows him for a notorious rogue, as are all men of his sort. And I’ll wager a golden angel he is concealing these fugitives in order to serve some purpose of his own.”