"Did ye see aught o' the others?" questioned Adam.
"No master, not plain, for they kept to the dark, but I could see they was four and one a very big man. 'Ha' ye got it, friend, ha' ye got it?' says the big rogue. 'No, plague on't!' says Gregory. 'Look how I will, I can find nought.' 'Here's luck!' says the big fellow, 'Bad luck, as I'm a soul. Where's he lie?' 'Can't say,' says Gregory. 'His messages go to the Conisby Arms, but he aren't there, I know.' 'The Faithful Friend, was it,' says the big fellow, 'a-lying off Deptford Creek?' 'Aye, the Faithful Friend,' says Gregory, and then chancing to look outside, claps finger to lip and comes creeping into the shadow. 'Lie low!' says he in a whisper—here's my lady!' And then, master, close outside comes my lady's voice calling 'Gregory! Gregory!' 'Answer, fool!' whispers the big man. 'Quick, or she'll be athwart our cable!' 'Here, my lady!' says Gregory and steps out o' the stable as she's about to step in. 'Gregory,' says she in hesitating fashion, 'have ye seen a stranger hereabouts to-night?' 'Not a soul, my lady!' says Gregory. 'A tall, wild man,' says she, 'very ragged and with yellow hair?' 'No, my lady,' says Gregory. Here she gives a sigh. 'Why then,' says she, 'bear you this letter to Master Penfeather—at once.' 'To the Conisby Arms, my lady?' says Gregory. 'No,' says she, 'to the Peck-o'-Malt by Bedgebury Cross. And, Gregory, should you see aught of the poor man that suffered lately in the pillory, say I would speak with him. And now saddle and begone with my letter.' 'To Bedgebury,' says Gregory, 'the Peck-o'-Malt—to-night, my lady?' 'This moment!' says she, mighty sharp. 'And, Gregory, I hear tales of your hard dealing with some of the tenantry: let me hear no more or you quit my service!' And away she goes, leaving Gregory staring after her, letter in hand. ''Twas she!' says the big man in a whisper. 'I'd know her voice anywhere—aye, 'twas she whipped it from my girdle, my luck, shipmates—our luck, but we'll find it if we have to pull the cursed house down brick and brick.'"
"Godby," says Adam suddenly, leaning forward, "did ye get no glimpse o' this man's face?"
"Nary a one, master, and for why?—the place was dark and he wore a great flapped hat."
"Why then," says Adam, pinching his chin, "did ye chance to see his hands?"
"No whit, master, and for why?—he wore a loose cloak about him."
"And what more did ye hear?"
"No more, master, and for why?—because, as luck would have it a straw tickled my nose and I sneezed loud as a demi-culverin, and there's poor Godby up and running for his life and these murderous rogues after poor Godby. Howbeit they durst not shoot lest they should alarm the house, and I'm very light on my feet and being small and used to dodging catchpolls and the like vermin, I got safe away. Having done which and bethinking me of my pal Martin, I made for the Peck-o'-Malt. Now as luck would have it, Gregory overtakes me (as I had purposed he should, I being minded to get even wi' him for good and all). Down he gets from the saddle and me by the collar, and claps a great snaphaunce under my nose. 'So it was you, ye rogue, was it?' says he. 'That same,' says I, 'but who's that peeping over the hedge there?' The fool turns to see, I twist the pistol out of his grip, and have him very neatly trussed and gagged with his belt and my girdle, and so, heaving him i' the ditch, into the saddle and here I am."
"Godby," says Penfeather, viewing him keen-eyed, "I need men—will ye sail with us for the Main?"
"Does Martin sail?"