“Revellers in masking habits,” replied Henry.
“And did he intimate his fear of having to do with them on his return?” again demanded Sir Patrick.
“He alluded particularly to his being waylaid, which I treated as visionary, having been able to see no one in the lane.”
“Had he then no help from thee of any kind whatsoever?” said the provost.
“Yes, worshipful,” replied the smith; “he exchanged his morrice dress for my head piece, buff coat, and target, which I hear were found upon his body; and I have at home his morrice cap and bells, with the jerkin and other things pertaining. He was to return my garb of fence, and get back his own masking suit this day, had the saints so permitted.”
“You saw him not then afterwards?”
“Never, my lord.”
“One word more,” said the provost. “Have you any reason to think that the blow which slew Oliver Proudfute was meant for another man?”
“I have,” answered the smith; “but it is doubtful, and may be dangerous to add such a conjecture, which is besides only a supposition.”
“Speak it out, on your burgher faith and oath. For whom, think you, was the blow meant?”