“And who mayest thou be, friend?” asked Sang; “and what mayest thou have to effunde that may throw light upon this affair?”
“Mine name ist Hans Eisenfelsenbroken, de grat Yarman, dat mach de armou better nor nobody dat can mach dem so well. Ich dit see de borse in de hond of dis him here mit mine own eyes.”
“A suspicious evidence,” said Sang shaking his head gravely, “a most suspicious evidence; trust me, I shall tell no store by it without strong corroboration. Hath the prisoner yet been searched?”
“Nay, there hath as yet been no time,” replied the marshalmen.
“Let him be forthwith riped, then,” said the esquire.
The marshalmen proceeded to execute his orders, and, to the joy of Rory Spears, they very speedily drew forth from beneath his gaberdine a leathern bag, containing a considerable weight of coin.
“By St. Lowry, but that is my auld mother’s money-bag,” cried Rory Spears, eyeing it from a distance.
“Let me have it,” said Sang; “knowest thou thy mother’s money-bag by any mark?”
“Yea,” replied Spears, readily; “it hath E. S. on the twa lugs of it, and a cross on the braid side.”
“Of a truth, this is the very bag,” said the squire; “the marks are all here.”