His face suddenly turned pale and passionate.
“Then where is the cloak your master speaks of in this letter?”
“The cloak!” I knew from the very first there would be trouble about that, and I was glad now I had left it behind in the safe keeping of my comrade at the inn.
“What is my cloak to you?” said I, not relishing the tone of his voice, “I have given it away to my friend.”
“Fool and jackass!” said he, gnashing his teeth, “do you know you have ruined me and your master by this?”
“No, I do not,” said I, “and as for the foul names you call me, take them back on the instant, or I swear I will ram them down your mouth!”
He took no notice whatever of my wrath, but went on, breaking in on his speech every now and then with Welsh words which I took to be curses.
“You must get it back at any price,” said he. “Lose not a moment! Where is this friend? Who is he? If he resist you, you must slay him, so as you get it back. If it fall into the hands of an enemy, you and I, ay and your master, and all that belongs to you will perish. Ah, the folly of the man to trust such a missive to this thick-headed blunderer! What time lost, what labour wasted, what peril run, what ruin on our holy cause!”
I was well out of temper by this time, and, but that he looked so miserable and ill-fed, I would have rattled his bones a bit. At last:
“That cloak,” said he, coming up to me, “contained papers sent by your master to me; which, if they be found on any one’s person, mean Tyburn. Do you understand that?”