I stood watching him, when, suddenly, the outer door opened, and a company of the watch trooped in.
“Good e’en to you, Master Dexter,” said the leader of them, whose head I had once chanced to break, and who had been monstrous civil to me ever since. “We must search this house, by your leave.”
“What for?” I asked.
“For villains and lurchers,” said he, “and if you keep any such in hiding, you had best speak and save trouble.”
“Wert thou not on a good service,” said I, blustering, “I would knock some of your heads together for supposing I harboured villains. The only villains in this place are some of you, sirs. What do you take me for?”
“Nevertheless,” said the leader, “we must look round. And, if there be naught to find, there is naught for thee to fear, Master Humphrey.”
“You must bring twice your number before I shake in my shoes at you,” said I. “Come, look where you will, and, when you have found them, I pray you let me have a sight of the rogues.” And I went on with my printing.
Of course they found naught. But I, as I stood at the press, could see from the window far down the river a boat lolling on the stream, and thanked Heaven all this had not fallen an hour earlier.
They searched upstairs and downstairs, in the wet cellar, and in the maiden’s chamber. They peeped in the cupboards, and up the chimneys, and put their heads out on the roof. Then, when they were satisfied, I asked would they like to spy in my pockets, whereat they departed somewhat ruffled, and left me to breathe again.
Late that night I stood on board the Miséricorde. The captain was on the look-out for me.