“I have nothing of yours,” replied Edmund, in a strangely foreign voice.

“Not been through the house yet, maybe, eh!”

“No.”

“Humph, I don’t believe you.  Here, Hugh,” he cried, hearing the ostler moving about below, “come up here.”

Edmund’s quondam friend and fellow conspirator came up in answer to the summons in no very enviable frame of mind, anticipating very correctly what was about to take place, and debating within himself what course of action to pursue.  He quickly decided, however, that inasmuch as he had not yet possessed himself of the money due to him from the captive, that he would screen him as far as he was able—­compatibly with his own safety.

“What’s this fellow doing here?” demanded his master, as soon as Hugh stepped into the room.

“Can’t say, sir,” replied Hugh, gazing at Edmund with well-simulated surprise, “maybe he’s in drink.”

“A likely story, that.  Do drunken folk climb up ladders, eh?”

“Not always, sir.”

“How long has he been up here, now?”

“Never seen him afore, sir,” returned the unabashed ostler, with an air of perfect candour.

“You will be getting into serious trouble some day if you don’t be careful to speak the truth,” exclaimed his master, “so I warn you, sir.  Now, out with it; he was here when you went down.”

“I had not seen him then, by the blessed Virgin I had not.  I have never clap’t eyes on the knave before!”

“Now, mind, I warn you, so be careful.”

“I had only just got up, master; upon my word I had.  I had not sufficient time to see anybody before you came and sent me down,” and at the remembrance of that event he stepped back a pace or two in order that his previous experience might not be repeated.

“You good-for-nothing rascal you!” broke out the landlord.  “I stood and watched you myself, you were looking at the play.  Get you gone, you idle vagabond,” he added, in high dudgeon, “get you gone, and bring me up some stout cord.”

Glad to escape, Hugh quickly made his exit, having come off far more easily than at one time he feared.  He reappeared in a short time, but with empty hands.

“Well, where’s the cord?” angrily enquired his master.

“An it please you, sir,” he replied, with a sly wink at Edmund, “I cannot find one strong enough to bear him.”

“You can’t hang him yet; let him have a proper trial.  There has been naught proved against him as yet,” eagerly interrupted the baron, upon whom the lesson of his own trouble had not been lost.

“He shall have a proper trial, my lord,” exclaimed the landlord, “and to-morrow we shall have him in the pillory.  The proprietor of the Cock Tavern is no hangman; I only wanted to bind him.  Fetch me a piece of cord, you knave, and be quick, or I’ll lay it about your back when it does come.  Nay, you don’t do that,” he added, turning to Edmund, who was struggling to free himself; “not yet, my fine fellow.  I have not done with thee yet,” and by Sir Nicholas’ timely help the prisoner was laid upon his back and then firmly secured with the cords which the ostler brought up a minute later.