This Thomas was used to go about with a censer, on a Sunday, as Chaucer hath it,—­

    “Censing the wives of the parish feast.”

Absalom, that pink of clerkly portraiture, seemed but a fair prototype of this individual, Geoffrey Chaucer at this time being a setter forth of rhymes and other matters for the ticklish ears of sundry well-fed and frolicksome idlers about the court of King Edward.

The merry knave of whom we speak was, however, in happy ignorance of all courtly fashions.  Provided he obtained his Sunday contributions, and his Christmas loaf, and his eggs at Easter, little wot he how the world went round.  He was a frequent visitor at the tavern, and De Poininges had already been distinguished by his especial notice.

From his character, and the means of information arising out of his multifarious occupations, De Poininges expected that some of the intelligence he was in search of might be gathered from this source.

The petty hostelry was now in sight, a projecting bush denoting the vintner’s residence.  The house was but thinly attended, though clean rushes and a blazing billet bespoke comfort and good cheer.  De Poininges and his companion turned aside into a smaller chamber, where mine host was speedily summoned for a flagon of stout liquor.  This being supplied, they addressed themselves to the wooden utensil with right goodwill; and as the draughts began to quicken, so did the clerk’s tongue not fail to wag the faster.  De Poininges adroitly shifted the discourse upon the business of which he was in quest, whenever there was a tendency to diverge, no rare occurrence, Thomas being somewhat loth for a while to converse on the subject.  The liquor, however, and his own garrulous propensities, soon slipped open the budget, and scraps of intelligence tumbled out which De Poininges did not fail to lay hold of as hints for another line of examination.

“I reckon so, at any rate, and so said Geoffrey,” replied the clerk, after a pause, subsequent to some close question.

“Sir Thomas, the Lord of Lathom, as you may have heard, he is a good-hearted soul, and this Margaret de la Bech was companion to his daughter Isabel.  She was ever held as a dame of good family and descent, though a stranger in these parts.  Then she was passing fair, so that both squire and gentleman, as they looked on her, were nigh devoured with love.  They say, too, her conditions were gentle and winsome as a child; and”—­

“Good,” said De Poininges, who found he was slipping away from the main subject.  “But hath not Sir Thomas made some apparent search since her disappearance from the hall?”

“Save the mark—­she was drowned in the moat.  So say the gossips,” said the clerk, looking askance.  “Her hood and mantle were on the brink—­but her body! why, it never jumped out again to look for them—­that’s all.”

“But did no one look for the body?” carelessly inquired De Poininges.