"That is the man," said Mr. Whitbread. "When did you see him?"
I told them that it was on the night that I found Mrs. Ireland and her daughter come from the play.
"He was standing in the mouth of the passage opposite," I said, "and watched me as I went in."
"He will have been watching many nights, I think," said Mr. Whitbread, "here, and in Duke Street, and at my own lodgings too."
I asked what he would do that for, if he had his tale already.
"That he may have more truth to stir up with his lies," said Mr. Whitbread. "He will say who he has seen go in and out; and we shall not be able to deny it."
He said this very quietly, without any sign of perturbation; and Mr.
Ireland was the same. They seemed a little thoughtful only.
"But no harm can come to you," I cried. "His Majesty hath promised it."
"Yes: His Majesty hath promised it," said Mr. Whitbread in such a manner that my heart turned cold; but I said no more on the point.
"Now, Mr. Mallock," said the priest, "we must consider what is best to be done. When the case comes on, as it surely will, the question for us is what you must do. I doubt not that you could give evidence that you have found us harmless folk"—(he smiled as he said this)—"but I do not know that you will be able to add much to what other of our witnesses will be able to say. I am not at all sure but that it may not be best for you to keep away from the case at first at any rate. You have the King's ear, which is worth more to us than any testimony you could give."