This was quite a new idea, and Sir George scratched his head, as if by so doing he might facilitate his judgment, and then he did what so many other troubled ones have done, both before his time and since, he sought to drown his troubles by gorging himself with his favourite liquor.

“Ha! well,” he muttered, “the ale is good, as London ale goes, I trow, but——­”

“It is indeed,” added the tavern-keeper promptly.  “There’s none better, though I say it.”

“But I think I will have cider,” continued the baron, not heeding the interruption.

“I will fetch it myself,” exclaimed the proprietor of the Cock; “and sure I am, ’twill be the best that ever you have tasted.”

“Nay, hold,” interrupted Sir George, “I will go with thee.  I will trust none to spice my drink except it be Lady Maude, or Dorothy.  I will go with thee and spice it myself.”

“And I will have some simple sack,” said Sir Thomas.

Sir George Vernon and the landlord descended the ladder, and threaded their way through the crowd into the tavern, while Sir Thomas Stanley, left to his own devices, continued to lie quietly down upon his couch of straw, watching with intense interest the progress of the play.

Edmund, meanwhile, hearing no one stirring, and not being in a position to see, concluded that all three had descended together, and that he was the sole occupant of the room.  He waited for a moment or two, and then, as the silence confirmed him in his opinion, he began to make strenuous efforts to free himself.  There was no sign made in response to the noise he made in the attempt, and, without any interruption, he released himself from his uncomfortable position.

Slowly and painfully he raised himself up, but as he reached the top, the thrill of triumph to which his new-born hopes of liberty had given birth, died away, and a sigh of dismay escaped him as he discovered that he was not alone.

For a time he stood perfectly motionless, too terrified to advance, and too paralysed by fear to regain his hiding-place.  Fortunately, however, for him, Sir Thomas Stanley’s back was turned towards him, and so intently had he fixed his attention upon the scene which was being acted on the stage before him, that he was in complete ignorance of the events which were transpiring in his rear.  Edmund wistfully cast a look at the ladder which protruded temptingly through the trap-door, but the look more than satisfied him that he could not hope to gain it without attracting the attention of his most unwelcome companion.

There was only one idea which presented itself to the unlucky man’s mind which promised any fair successes, and that left no alternative.  He must put Sir Thomas out of the way!

However repugnant this plan might be, and Edmund felt all its hideousness, he felt every moment more and more convinced that it was the only safe way.  He had suffered too much already to venture willingly back into the torture-chamber from which he had just escaped, even if he could safely have regained its shelter—­in itself no mean feat; and at the bare idea of spending two more hours of like agony he trembled.  He resolved that rather than he would be driven to that uncertain refuge again, Sir Thomas should pay the penalty of death.