As they came out at last, without attracting any great attention, into the more open space at the entrance of Friar’s Gate, Robin turned again and asked what the matter was.  It was plainly not himself, as he had at first almost believed.

The man turned an exultant face to him.

“It’s the Spanish fleet!” he said.  “There’s not a ship of it left, they say.”

When they halted at the gate of the prison there was another pause, while the cord that tied his feet was cut, and he was helped from his horse, as he was stiff and constrained from the long ride under such circumstances.  He heard a roar of interest and abuse, and, perhaps, a little sympathy, from the part of the crowd that had followed, as the gate close behind him.

II

As his eyes became better accustomed to the dark, he began to see what kind of a place it was in which he found himself.  It was a square little room on the ground-floor, with a single, heavily-barred window, against which the dirt had collected in such quantities as to exclude almost all light.  The floor was beaten earth, damp and uneven; the walls were built of stones and timber, and were dripping with moisture; there was a table and a stool in the centre of the room, and a dark heap in the corner.  He examined this presently, and found it to be rotting hay covered with some kind of rug.  The whole place smelled hideously foul.

From far away outside came still the noise of cheering, heard as through wool, and the sharp reports of the cannon they were still firing.  The Armada seemed very remote from him, here in ward.  Its destruction affected him now hardly at all, except for the worse, since an anti-Catholic reaction might very well follow....  He set himself, with scarcely an effort, to contemplate more personal matters.

He was astonished that his purse had not been taken from him.  He had been searched rapidly just now, in an outer passage, by a couple of men, one of whom he understood to be his gaoler; and a knife and a chain and his rosary had been taken from him.  But the purse had been put back again....  He remembered presently that the possession of money made a considerable difference to a prisoner’s comfort; but he determined to do as little as he was obliged in this way.  He might need the money more urgently by and by.

* * * * *

By the time that he had gone carefully round his prison-walls, even reaching up to the window and testing the bars, pushing as noiselessly as he could against the door, pacing the distances in every direction—­he had, at the same time, once more arranged and rehearsed every piece of evidence that he possessed, and formed a number of resolutions.

He was perfectly clear by now that his father had been wholly ignorant of the identity of the man he was after.  The horror in the gasping face that he had seen so close to his own, above the strangling arm, set that beyond a doubt; the news of the fit into which his father had fallen confirmed it.