“But do ee believe that he done it?” cried Nicholas. “Do ee believe it, Master Lionel?” There was reproach amounting to horror in the servant’s voice.
“God help me, what else can I believe now that he is fled.”
Nicholas sidled up to him with tightened lips. He set two gnarled fingers on the young man’s arm.
“He’m not fled, Master Lionel,” he announced with grim impressiveness. “He’m never a turntail. Sir Oliver he don’t fear neither man nor devil, and if so be him had killed Master Godolphin, he’d never ha’ denied it. Don’t ee believe Sir John Killigrew. Sir John ever hated he.”
But in all that countryside the servant was the only one to hold this view. If a doubt had lingered anywhere of Sir Oliver’s guilt, that doubt was now dispelled by this flight of his before the approach of the expected orders from the Queen.
Later that day came Captain Leigh to Penarrow inquiring for Sir Oliver.
Nicholas brought word of his presence and his inquiry to Master Lionel, who bade him be admitted.
The thick-set little seaman rolled in on his bowed legs, and leered at his employer when they were alone.
“He’s snug and safe aboard,” he announced. “The thing were done as clean as peeling an apple, and as quiet.”
“Why did you ask for him?” quoth Master Lionel.