“Well, well,” exclaimed Tabbard, “give me the word of action. I am ready.”
“Mount horse at once, and press after him. Did you hear her description of him? A red-bearded man with broad-brimmed hat and long gray coat. If he encounters an officer and turns, haste thee here before them with the warning. If he goes to his journey’s end, you will find it at the office of the justice at the corner of the Old Jewry and Poultry Street. It was there that the charge against me was sworn to. Ride down Bishopsgate Street to Threadneedle and then into Poultry. You will know the justice’s office by the red crown in the stone wall above the doorway. Watch the actions of the man. If a constable starts from the office upon Bame’s arrival, see to it that such officer is interrupted by hook or crook, until thou hast reason to believe that London Bridge lies between us.”
Tabbard had risen before the last word was spoken, and saying, “You can trust me to keep your way clear,” he disappeared.
The man Bame paused not a moment on reaching the road, but hastily crossed the bridge over the moat, passed through the wide gate and strode on toward the south. Although he walked with alacrity, a galloping rider coming in his wake had overtaken him before he entered the street now known as Threadneedle. Crowds of people were moving in all directions, but the broad-brimmed hat of the man on foot and his long coat could be easily distinguished, and the rider, slackening his horse’s pace, rode only fast enough to keep this figure in view.
Contrary to the expectation of the rider, Bame, instead of going into and through Poultry Street, turned northerly and passed into Lothbury, by the residences of rich merchants, by the Lothbury entrance of the Windmill tavern, which was once a Jewish synagogue, by the low-built stone shops of coppersmiths and founders of candlesticks, lamps and dishes, and around the corner of the Old Jewry. Here before an arched entrance of the long stone building, known as the Old or Prince’s Wardrobe, he encountered a broad-shouldered man in leather doublet and jerkin, and, as the two halted for a moment, Tabbard dismounted and tied his horse at the corner of the parish church of St. Olave.
Tabbard could not overhear the conversation between the two men; but as they moved, he followed to a building with quaint gables projecting over the broad windows of two upper stories and a wide stone entrance, above which was a great crown made of iron, set in the grimy wall, and painted red. It was the house in which Thomas à Becket first saw the light of day. Bame and his companion entered this building, and Tabbard, leaning against a thick window frame near the door, and on a level with his breast, looked through one of the small squares of glass.
Several candles had already been lighted in the room, for the high walls of the structures facing on the street, aided by the fog, made the interior as obscure as the hold of a vessel with closed hatches. He saw a man with periwig clapped on his gray head, beard trimmed like an ace of spades with sharp end down, and a loose taffeta gown, girt at his gross waist by a buff leather belt. He filled a chair large enough for two men as slender as Tabbard, and had his eyes been less confused by waking suddenly from a comfortable nap, or wide open instead of blinking, he might have seen the curious outsider.
Even Bame’s self-possession was disturbed in the presence of the awakening conservator of the peace, and as noiseless as a drummer in retreat from battle, he bowed most humbly.
“Well,” thundered the dazed justice, “who now, Gyves? Is this thy last catch? And is it bail or the jail? What——”
“Nothing of that sort, your honor,” interrupted the constable, for such he was.