Ralph threw a leg over the saddle and slipped to the ground.
“Where is he?” he asked.
“He is with my Lord Abbot, sir,” he said. “Will you come with me?”
The canon led the way across the court, his white fur tails swinging as he went, and took Ralph through the cloister into one of the parlours. There was a sound of a high scolding voice as he threw open the door.
“What in God’s name are ye for then, if ye have not hospitality?”
Dr. Layton turned round as Ralph came in. He was flushed with passion; his mouth worked, and his eyes were brutal.
“See this, Mr. Torridon,” he said. “There is neither room for man or beast in this damned abbey. The guest house has no more than half a dozen rooms, and the stable—why, it is not fit for pigs, let alone the horses of the King’s Visitors.”
The Abbot, a young man with a delicate face, very pale now and trembling, broke in deprecatingly.
“I am very sorry, gentlemen,” he said, looking from one to the other, “but it is not my fault. It is in better repair than when I came to it. I have done my best with my Lord Abbot of Welbeck; but we are very poor, and he can give me no more.”
Layton growled at him.