“He was wonderful fine dressed, an’ rode a smartish sort o’ beast—he did. ’Ceptin’ that ere black o’ yours Master Henry, I han’t seed a better hoss for some time to coom. As for the gent hisself, he sayed he war jest what ye ha’ been a callin’ me—a King’s cooreer.”
“And so you took this from the King’s courier?”
“Oh! Master Hen—”
“I am sure he did not give it to you?”
“Well, Master Henry, it’s no use my telling you a lie ’bout it. I acknowledge I tuk the letter from him.”
“And something else, no doubt. Come, Garth! no beating about the bush. Tell the whole truth!”
“Good lor! Master; must I tell ye all?”
“You must; or you and I never exchange words again.”
“Lor—O Lord! I’ll tell you, then everything that happened atween us. Ye see, Master Henry,” continued he, disposing himself for a full confession, “you see, the gent had such fine things about him—as a king’s cooreer oughter have, I suppose—a watch an’ chain, and fine clothes, an’ a goold pencil, an’ a thing he called a locket, to say nothin’ o’—”
“I don’t want the inventory, Garth,” interrupted the cavalier. “I want to know what you did to him. You stripped him of all these fine things, I suppose?”