“Percy, Percy!” screamed the Lady Barbara, and it was to the window that her arms were stretched.
“The devil!” shouted Lord Grimsby, wavering back from the thrice encountered fiend.
“Yes, the devil, the Black Devil,” laughed the voice in the window. “But not Lord Farquhart, not your Percy, Lady Barbara. For he sits there as innocent as all the rest of you. But there’s your purse, Lord Grimsby; your purse and your seal and your rings that I took last night!” He flung the articles toward Lord Grimsby. “And there’s your broidered gauntlet, that you gave somewhat easily, my Lady Barbara.” The glove fell at Lady Barbara’s feet. “And here’s one of my lord bishop’s rings that I sent not back with the rest. I have five minutes more by your own word, Lord Grimsby. After that I’m yours—if you can take me!”
XX.
The king’s guards, and the motley crowd that followed them, found no one on any road round about the court save Johan, the player’s boy, riding in most ungainly fashion on Mistress Judith’s nag in the direction of the Ogilvie woods. He had seen naught, he had heard naught, of any fugitive highwayman. He shivered and crossed himself when the Black Devil’s name was mentioned. He even begged one of the guards to mount and ride behind him until they should be beyond the danger zone, assuring the fellow that Mistress Judith would reward him well if he saved her favorite horse from the highwayman’s clutches.
At practically the same moment, Master Lindley came upon Johan, the player’s boy, stupidly asleep at the end of the lane, quite unmindful of the commotion that surged about him.
When Lindley had shaken him into some semblance of wakefulness, he only stammered:
“Ay, ay, Master Lindley, I know you. But I know naught of last night save that I sat late over my supper. I’ve not seen Mistress Judith to-day, at all. Yes, she’s spoken much of Lord Farquhart, but I know naught of him. Now I——” And he had already drowsed off into sleep.
It was the first time that Lindley had ever seen the player’s boy by the light of day, and he was shocked by the sickly pallor of the lad’s face. The thin lips were feverishly bright and his black curls straggled across his brow. It was a stupid face, too, but Lindley could not stop then to marvel at the discrepancy between the clever brain and its covering. Instead he hurried eagerly after the throng that was in vain pursuing the gentleman highwayman, who seemed to possess the devil’s luck, if he were not, in reality, the devil himself.