"Mr. Bourgoign," he said in a low voice, "I must speak five minutes with you. And I ask you to make as if you were my friend."
The old man stiffened like a watch-dog. It was plain that he was on his guard.
"I do not know you, sir."
"I entreat you to do as I ask. I am a priest, sir. I entreat you to take my hand as if we were friends."
A look of surprise went over the physician's face.
"You can send me packing in ten minutes," went on Robin rapidly, at the same time holding out his hand. "And we will talk here in the road, if you will."
There was still a moment's hesitation. Then he took the priest's hand.
"I am come straight from London," went on Robin, still speaking clearly, yet with his lips scarcely moving. "A fortnight ago I talked with Mr. Babington."
The old man drew his arm close within his own.
"You have said enough, or too much, at present, sir. You shall walk with me a hundred yards up this road, and justify what you have said."