When he had ducked his head in a bowl of water, and got our cloaks from the room below, we went to the door, and there, to my dismay, I found the lock fast and the key which I had left in its socket gone.

“What’s amiss, Kit?” asks Dawson, perceiving my consternation.

“The key, the key!” says I, holding the candle here and there to seek it on the floor, then, giving up my search as it struck me that Mr. Godwin and Moll could not have left the house had the door been locked on the inside; “I do believe we are locked in and made prisoners,” says I.

“Why, sure, this is not Mr. Godwin’s doing!” cries he.

“’Tis Simon,” says I, with conviction, seeing him again in my mind, standing behind Mr. Godwin, with wicked triumph in his face.

“Is there no other door but this one?” asks Dawson.

“There is one at the back, but I have never yet opened that, for lack of a key.”  And now setting one thing against another, and recalling how I had before found the door open, when I felt sure I had locked it fast, the truth appeared to me; namely, that Simon had that key and did get in the back way, going out by the front on that former occasion in haste upon some sudden alarm.

“Is there never a window we can slip through?” asks Jack.

“Only those above stairs; the lower are all barred.”

“A fig for his bars.  Does he think we have neither hands nor wits to be hindered by this silly woman’s trick?”

“’Tis no silly trick.  He’s not the man to do an idle thing.  There’s mischief in this.”

“What mischief can he do us more than he has done?—­for I see his hand in our misfortune.  What mischief, I say?—­out with it, man, for your looks betray a fear of something worse.”

“Faith, Jack, I dread he has gone to fetch help and will lodge us in gaol for this business.”

“Gaol!” cries he, in a passion of desperation.  “Why, this will undo Moll for ever.  Her husband can never forgive her putting such shame upon him.  Rouse yourself, man, from your stupor.  Get me something in the shape of a hammer, for God’s sake, that we may burst our way from this accursed trap.”

I bethought me of an axe for splitting wood, that lay in the kitchen, and fetching it quickly, I put it in his hand.  Bidding me stand aside, he let fly at the door like a madman.  The splinters flew, but the door held good; and when he stayed a moment to take a new grip on his axe, I heard a clamour of voices outside—­Simon’s, higher than the rest, crying, “My new door, that cost me seven and eightpence!”

“The lock, the lock!” says I.  “Strike that off.”

Down came the axe, striking a spark of fire from the lock, which fell with a clatter at the next blow; but ere we had time to open the door, Simon and his party, entering by the back door, forced us to turn for our defence.  Perceiving Dawson armed with an axe, however, these fellows paused, and the leader, whom I recognised for the constable of our parish, carrying a staff in one hand and a lanthorn in t’other, cried to us in the king’s name to surrender ourselves.