He nodded to her again genially.  Then, turning, he went to meet the apothecary, who was now not thirty yards away.

* * * * *

It was a pathetic old figure that was hobbling towards him.  He seemed a man of near seventy years old, with a close-cropped beard and spectacles on his nose, and he carried himself heavily and ploddingly.  Robin argued to himself that it must be a kindly man who would come out at this hour—­perhaps the one hour he had to himself—­to visit a poor dependant.  Yet all this was sheer conjecture; and, as the old man came near, he saw there was something besides kindliness in the eyes that met his own.

He saluted boldly and deferentially.

“Mr. Bourgoign,” he said in a low voice, “I must speak five minutes with you.  And I ask you to make as if you were my friend.”

The old man stiffened like a watch-dog.  It was plain that he was on his guard.

“I do not know you, sir.”

“I entreat you to do as I ask.  I am a priest, sir.  I entreat you to take my hand as if we were friends.”

A look of surprise went over the physician’s face.

“You can send me packing in ten minutes,” went on Robin rapidly, at the same time holding out his hand.  “And we will talk here in the road, if you will.”

There was still a moment’s hesitation.  Then he took the priest’s hand.

“I am come straight from London,” went on Robin, still speaking clearly, yet with his lips scarcely moving.  “A fortnight ago I talked with Mr. Babington.”

The old man drew his arm close within his own.

“You have said enough, or too much, at present, sir.  You shall walk with me a hundred yards up this road, and justify what you have said.”

“We have had a weary ride of it, Mr. Bourgoign....  I am on the road to Derby,” went on Robin, talking loudly enough now to be overheard, as he hoped, by any listeners.  “And my horse is spent....  I will tell you my business,” he added in a lower tone, “as soon as you bid me.”

Fifty yards up the road the old man pressed his arm again.

“You can tell me now, sir,” he said.  “But we will walk, if you please, while you do so.”

* * * * *

“First,” said Robin, after a moment’s consideration as to his best beginning, “I will tell you the name I go by.  It is Mr. Alban.  I am a newly-made priest, as I told you just now; I came from Rheims scarcely a fortnight ago.  I am from Derbyshire; and I will tell you my proper name at the end, if you wish it.”

“Repeat the blessing of the deacon by the priest at mass,” murmured Mr. Bourgoign to the amazement of the other, without the change of an inflection in his voice or a movement of his hand.

“Dominus sit in corde tuo et in labiis—­” began the priest.

“That is enough, sir, for the present.  Well?”

“Next,” said Robin, hardly yet recovered from the extraordinary promptness of the challenge—­“Next, I was speaking with Mr. Babington a fortnight ago.”