"What, Godby, ha' ye no word for a poor murderer in his abasement?" says I. Whereat he shakes his head mighty gloomy and keeping his gaze averted. As for Adam he stood pinching his chin the while his quick, bright eyes darted from one to other of us.
"How, are ye going and never a word?" quoth I as Godby crossed to the door.
"Aye, I am!" says he, with gaze still averted.
"Why you left me in mighty hurry last time, Godby,"
"Aye, I did!" says he.
"Why then tell us wherefore—speak out, man."
"Not I, Martin, not I!" says he, and touching his bonnet to Penfeather hasted away.
"Ha!" says Adam, closing and locking the door. "And what's the riddle, Martin?"
"My doublet. Godby, chancing to take it up, finds it all a-smear with blood and incontinent suspects me for this black murderer, which comes hard since here's an end of Godby's faith and my friendship."
"Why look now, Martin, his suspicions are in reason seeing that what with drugs, deviltries and what not, you've been mighty strange o' late and more unlovely company than usual, d'ye see!"