As soon as this worthy had ascended, Edmund coolly made for the ladder, but he was motioned back by a sweep of the arm, as the landlord loosely fastened down the door.
"Who might you be, pray?" he asked, turning to the terror-stricken captive; "and what are you doing here, eh?"
At this sally Sir Thomas Stanley, who had just been exchanging compliments with the Lord Keeper, turned round.
"Who might he be," he laughed, repeating the words he had just overheard; "well, by my troth, Sir George, he does not remember his own servant, even the one he sent about my sack. You have been priming him with his own ale and this is the result.
"Not a drop," interrupted the baron.
"What do you say?" gasped out the astonished innkeeper. "This rascally knave a servant of mine! Pooh, does he look like it, I ask you? You impudent jackanapes," he pursued, as he clutched the unfortunate Edmund by the collar. "What are you here for, eh? What are you here for? Speak."
So far was Edmund from complying with this command that he remained absolutely silent. He dare not open his mouth for fear that Sir George would recognise his voice.
"Prowling about for as much as he can lay hold of, I'll warrant me," continued his captor, addressing Sir Thomas Stanley, who had advanced towards them. "How long has he been here, my lord?"
"Nay, I know not," said Sir Thomas. "I saw him but just before you came up."
"Then you may satisfy yourself that he had watched us out," replied the other sharply, "and was surprised enough to find anyone left up here."