“And what did she say to that?”

“She declared herself guiltless of the plot ... that she knew nothing of it; and that—­”

“Now then; now then.  You expect my lord to believe that?”

“I do not know....  But it was what was said.”

“And you profess that you knew nothing of the plot till then?”

“I knew nothing of it till then,” whispered the priest steadily.  “But—­”

(A face suddenly blotted out more of the light.)

“Yes?”

“Anthony—­I mean Mr. Babington—­had spoken to me a great while before—­in ... in some village inn....  I forget where.  It was when I was a lad.  He asked whether I would join in some enterprise.  He did not say what it was....  But I thought it to be against the Queen of England....  And I would not."...

He closed his eyes again.  There had begun a slow heat of pain in ankles and wrists, not wholly unbearable, and a warmth began to spread in his body.  A great shudder or two shook him.  The voice said something he could not hear.  Then a metal rim was pressed to his mouth; and a stream of something at once icy and fiery ran into his mouth and out at the corners.  He swallowed once or twice; and his senses came back.

“You do not expect us to believe all that!” came the voice.

“It is the truth, for all that,” murmured the priest.

The next question came sudden as a shot fired: 

“You were at Fotheringay?”

“Yes.”

“In what house?”

“I was in the inn—­the ‘New Inn,’ I think it is.

“And you spoke with her Grace again?”

“No; I could not get at her.  But—­”

“Well?”

“I was in the court of the castle when her Grace was executed.”

There was a murmur of voices.  He thought that someone had moved over to the table where my lord sat; but he could not move his eyes again, the labour was too great.

“Who was with you in the inn—­as your friend, I mean?”

“A ... a young man was with me.  His name was Merton.  He is in France, I think.”

“And he knew you to be a priest?” came the voice without an instant’s hesitation.

“Why—­” Then he stopped short, just in time.

“Well?”

“How should he think that?” asked Robin.

There was a laugh somewhere.  Then the voice went on, almost good-humouredly.

“Mr. Alban; what is the use of this fencing?  You were taken in a hiding-hole with the very vestments at your feet.  We know you to be a priest.  We are not seeking to entrap you in that, for there is no need.  But there are other matters altogether which we must have from you.  You have been made priest beyond the seas, in Rheims—­”

“I swear to you that I was not,” whispered Robin instantly and eagerly, thinking he saw a loophole.

“Well, then, at Chalons, or Douay:  it matters not where.  That is not our affair to-day.  All that will be dealt with before my lords at the Assizes.  But what we must have from you now is your answer to some other questions.”