From there I floundered through the swamps, with the river on my right hand, till I came to Kingston, where it was not long till I found Master Udal’s house.
He was a little grave man, whom I might have swallowed at a gulp, and yet he had an air about him I durst not disobey, and an eye which, when I caught it, made me think of my sins. He asked me many questions about Master Walgrave and his manner of life, which I answered plainly, all except one or more that concerned the secret press in the cellar.
“Your master keepeth one press out of sight?” said he.
“If that be so,” said I, “’tis no wonder if I know nothing of it.”
He smiled.
“Then, he labours at it himself, without your aid?”
“If you say so, sir, no doubt but he does.”
Master Udal smiled again.
“Thou’rt good at a secret, lad, and I’ll tempt thee no more.”
Whereupon he did what was worse, and began to question me about my own ways, and that searchingly, so that I was fain to plead weariness, and asked for my bed. This was even worse; for, being a lonely man, he had but one bed in the house, and that was his own. And that he might have the more of my company, he came to bed too.