“What business, sir?” he said.  “I do not know what you mean.”

I smiled; so that he could see me do it.

“Very good, then,” I said.  “I will leave you to Mr. Rumbald;” and I made as if I would pass on.

“Sir,” he said, “can you give me any assurance?...  I am terrified.”  And indeed he looked it; so I supposed that he thought that the attempt was indeed to be made to-day.  I determined on a bold stroke.

“My man!” I said.  “If you will tell me your name, and then begone at once, back to town, I will tell you something that will be of service to you.  If not—­” and I broke off.

He looked at me piteously.  I think my air frightened him.  He drew back a little from the house, though we were in a place where we could not be seen from the windows.

“My name is Keeling, sir.  You will not betray me?  What is it, sir?”

“Well,” said I, “I can give you an assurance that what you fear will not take place.  There is not a man here beyond myself and Mr. Rumbald and old Alick.  Now begone at once.  Stay; where do you live?”

He shook his head.  A little colour had come back to his face again at the news.

“No, sir; that was not in the bargain.  I will begone, sir, as you said; and thank you, sir.”

He slipped back again very quickly, and was vanished.  I suppose that he had ridden down in some cart all night, and that he went back in the same way, for I saw no more of him.

Well; I had gained two little points—­I had kept him from Mr. Rumbald, which was one—­(for I did not want my host to consult with any if I could help it)—­and I had learned what perhaps was his name.  This, however, I would test for myself presently.

At noon we dined; and having observed no difference in my host’s manner, that might shew that he had any idea I had met with anyone, I made two remarks.

“I talked with a fellow at the gate this morning,” I said; “he seemed to know nothing of the King’s coming.”

Rumbald jerked his head impatiently; and I perceived that we had not been seen.  Presently I said: 

“Who was that pale-looking fellow who wished to speak with you yesterday, Mr. Rumbald, at the Mitre?”

He looked sharply at me for an instant.

“His name is Thompson,” said he.  “He is one of my malting-men.”

Then I knew that he had lied.  A man does not invent the name of Keeling, but very easily the name of Thompson.  So I saw that Rumbald had not yet lost all discretion; and indeed, for all his talk, he had hardly spoken a name that I could get hold of.

After a while I ventured on another sentence which suited my purpose, and at the same time confirmed him in his own view.

“If by any chance His Majesty should not come to-day—­will it be done, do you think, to-morrow?  Shall you wait till he does come?”

He shook his head and lied again very promptly.