“Ay, ay,” said I. “Lubin, or Ludar, or some such name.”
“Thou hast it. Ludar. Well, as I told thee, this varlet is appointed to the charge by this Lu— Say it again, comrade.”
“Ludar,” said I.
“Ay, Ludar. Well, this varlet, as I—”
“And where is the villain now?”
“Why, as I told thee, dullard, he lurks in Canterbury city hard by the convent—and though ’twas I helped her there—I or thou, I forget if thou didst assist—I say, though ’twas I—or I or thou—or I and thou—helped her there, this dog now keepeth guard like a very bulldog.”
“Well,” said I, trembling to have so much news, “may be he doeth no harm. The lady oweth more to thee than him.”
“Ay—’twas a deft trick, spiriting her thither—and the Captain little knows ’twas honest Tom Price baulked him. Not but—harkee,”—here he whispered again—“not but the lady did not make it worth the while, eh? I have a noble of it left still, comrade. As I told thee, the Captain knoweth naught. He! he! he hath followed her hither and thither. But, mercy on us, he’d as soon look in the Fleet Ditch as in Canterbury. Harkee, comrade, that other varlet is a knave. Hang him, I say. ’Twas thou and I helped her there—he knew naught till—how a plague found he us out? Honest friend, I pray thee slay me this dog.”
“Where in Canterbury shall I find him?” said I.
“Thou knowest a certain tavern, or inn, or hostel by the sign of the Oriflame, neighbour. Well, ’tis but a stone’s-throw from the convent; and I warrant the sot will be not far away. Fetch me his head, comrade; and I vow thou shalt share my noble. Get thee gone.”