Dr. Layton glared at him, laying the paper down.
“The question is,” he cried, “which would you sooner offend—your Prior, who will be prior no longer presently, or the King’s Grace, who will remain the King’s Grace for many years yet, by the favour of God, and who has moreover supreme rights of life and death. That is your choice, reverend father.”—He lifted the paper by the corners.—“You have only to say the word, sir, and I tear up this paper, and write my own report of the matter.”
The monk again glanced helplessly at the two men. Ralph had a touch of contentment at the thought that this was Christopher’s superior, ranged like a naughty boy at the table, and looked at him coldly. Dr. Layton made a swift gesture as if to tear the paper, and the Sub-Prior threw out his hands.
“I will sign it, sir,” he said, “I will sign it.”
When the monk had left the room, leaving his signed confession behind him, Dr. Layton turned beaming to Ralph.
“Thank God!” he said piously. “I do not know what we should have done if he had refused; but now we hold him and his prior too. How have you fared, Mr. Torridon?”
Ralph told him a little of his experiences since his last report, of a nunnery where all but three had been either dismissed or released; of a monastery where he had actually caught a drunken cellarer unconscious by a barrel, and of another where he had reason to fear even worse crimes.
“Write it all down, Mr. Torridon,” cried the priest, “and do not spare the adjectives. I have some fine tales for you myself. But we must despatch this place first. We shall have grand sport in the chapter-house to-morrow. This prior is a poor timid fellow, and we can do what we will with him. Concealed treason is a sharp sword to threaten him with.”
Ralph remarked presently that he had a brother a monk here.
“But you can do what you like to him,” he said. “I have no love for him. He is an insolent fellow.”