“We thought of that,” cried Betty; “but it is judged impossible that so ignorant a man could have had access to the papers which are now in the hands of Cromwell.”
“Nevertheless, I tell you, find him,” returned the wizard, calmly.
“He hath been already interrogated,” replied Betty, sadly, “and now we know not where he is—since Lord Raby dismissed him.”
“He is in a house in Cheapside,” said the astrologer. “You may find it easily; the door is painted green and hath a rat-hole in the lower left-hand corner; there are three windows in the front of the house, each different in size and shape. He sleeps in the attic.”
“He will tell us nothing,” Betty answered in despair; “we have tried, and my Lord Raby is sure he knows nothing.”
The wizard laughed, not mirthfully, but as if he relished some grim joke.
“He is in that attic,” he said dryly; “take him and he will tell you all.”
“I tell you,” cried Betty, with impatience, “he will tell us nothing.”
“Singe him,” retorted the wizard, with a grin; “my lord privy seal can teach you how to entreat a prisoner to speak.”
Betty recoiled with horror, but old Madam caught at the idea.