After a madrigal or two, and an Italian song of Master Frank’s, all which went sweetly enough, the ladies rose, and went. Whereon Will Cary, drawing his chair close to Frank’s, put quietly into his hand a dirty letter.
“This was the letter left for me,” whispered he, “by a country fellow this morning. Look at it and tell me what I am to do.”
Whereon Frank opened, and read—
“Mister Cary,
be you wary
By
deer park end to-night.
Yf Irish ffoxe com out
of rocks
Grip
and hold hym tight.”
“I would have showed it my father,” said Will, “but—”
“I verily believe it to be a blind. See now, this is the handwriting of a man who has been trying to write vilely, and yet cannot. Look at that B, and that G; their formae formativae never were begotten in a hedge-school. And what is more, this is no Devon man’s handiwork. We say ‘to’ and not ‘by,’ Will, eh? in the West country?”
“Of course.”
“And ‘man,’ instead of ’him’?”
“True, O Daniel! But am I to do nothing therefore?”
“On that matter I am no judge. Let us ask much-enduring Ulysses here; perhaps he has not sailed round the world without bringing home a device or two.”
Whereon Amyas was called to counsel, as soon as Mr. Cary could be stopped in a long cross-examination of him as to Mr. Doughty’s famous trial and execution.
Amyas pondered awhile, thrusting his hands into his long curls; and then—
“Will, my lad, have you been watching at the Deer Park End of late?”
“Never.”
“Where, then?”
“At the town-beach.”
“Where else?
“At the town-head.”
“Where else?”
“Why, the fellow is turned lawyer! Above Freshwater.”
“Where is Freshwater?”
“Why, where the water-fall comes over the cliff, half-a-mile from the town. There is a path there up into the forest.”
“I know. I’ll watch there to-night. Do you keep all your old haunts safe, of course, and send a couple of stout knaves to the mill, to watch the beach at the Deer Park End, on the chance; for your poet may be a true man, after all. But my heart’s faith is, that this comes just to draw you off from some old beat of yours, upon a wild-goose chase. If they shoot the miller by mistake, I suppose it don’t much matter?”
“Marry, no.”
“’When a
miller’s knock’d on the head,
The less of flour makes
the more of bread.’”
“Or, again,” chimed in old Mr. Cary, “as they say in the North—
“’Find a
miller that will not steal,
Or a webster that is
leal,
Or a priest that is
not greedy,
And lay them three a
dead corpse by;
And by the virtue of
them three,
The said dead corpse
shall quicken’d be.’”
“But why are you so ready to watch Freshwater to-night, Master Amyas?”