Jar. I know him now.
Blood. 'Tis none of Sir Nicholas' spies, is't?
Jar. He serves him.
Blood. He wonnot murder me, will he?
Jar. He shall not touch you: only, I remember, this afternoon this fellow, by what he had gathered by eavesdropping, or by frequent observation, asked me privately if there were no meeting betwixt you and my mistress to-night in this place, for a widow, he said, he knew you were to meet.
Blood. Good.
Jar. Now I handsomely threw dust in's eyes, and yet kept the plot swift afoot too. I told him you were here to meet a widow too, whom you long loved, but would not let her know't till this afternoon, naming to him one of my aunts[90], a widow by Fleet-ditch. Her name is Mistress Gray, and keeps divers gentlewomen lodgers.
Blood. Good again.
Jar. To turn the scent then, and to cheat inquisition the more ingeniously——
Blood. And to bob Sir Nicholas most neatly.