The canon led the way across the court, his white fur tails swinging as he went, and took Ralph through the cloister into one of the parlours.  There was a sound of a high scolding voice as he threw open the door.

“What in God’s name are ye for then, if ye have not hospitality?”

Dr. Layton turned round as Ralph came in.  He was flushed with passion; his mouth worked, and his eyes were brutal.

“See this, Mr. Torridon,” he said.  “There is neither room for man or beast in this damned abbey.  The guest house has no more than half a dozen rooms, and the stable—­why, it is not fit for pigs, let alone the horses of the King’s Visitors.”

The Abbot, a young man with a delicate face, very pale now and trembling, broke in deprecatingly.

“I am very sorry, gentlemen,” he said, looking from one to the other, “but it is not my fault.  It is in better repair than when I came to it.  I have done my best with my Lord Abbot of Welbeck; but we are very poor, and he can give me no more.”

Layton growled at him.

“I don’t say it’s you, man; we shall know better when we have looked into your accounts; but I’ll have a word to say at Welbeck.”

“We are to share a room, Dr. Layton,” put in Ralph “At least—­”

The doctor turned round again at that, and stormed once more.

“I cannot help it, gentlemen,” retorted the Abbot desperately.  “I have given up my own chamber already.  I can but do my best.”

Ralph hastened to interpose.  His mind revolted at this coarse bullying, in spite of his contempt at this patient tolerance on the part of the Abbot.

“I shall do very well, my Lord Abbot,” he said.  “I shall give no trouble.  You may put me where you please.”

The young prelate looked at him gratefully.

“We will do our best, sir,” he said.  “Will you come, gentlemen, and see your chambers?”

Layton explained to Ralph as they went along the poor little cloister that he himself had only arrived an hour before.

“I had a rare time among the monks,” he whispered, “and have some tales to make you laugh.”

* * * * *

He grew impatient again presently at the poor furnishing of the rooms, and kicked over a broken chair.

“I will have something better than that,” he said.  “Get me one from the church.”

The young Abbot faced him.

“What do you want of us, Dr. Layton?  Is it riches or poverty?  Which think you that Religious ought to have?”

The priest gave a bark of laughter.

“You have me there, my lord,” he said; and nudged Ralph.

They sat down to supper presently in the parlour downstairs, a couple of dishes of meat, and a bottle of Spanish wine.  Dr. Layton grew voluble.

“I have a deal to tell you, Mr. Torridon,” he said, “and not a few things to show you,—­silver crosses and such like; but those we will look at to-morrow.  I doubt whether we shall add much to it here, though there is a relic-case that would look well on Master Cromwell’s table; it is all set with agates.  But the tales you shall have now.  My servant will be here directly with the papers.”