magister of the
Latin tongues had come from Paris, having stolen copies of the Cleves
envoy's letters in that town, and that these letters said that Cleves
was fast inclined to the true Schmalkaldner league of Lutherans and
would pay tribute truly, but no more than that do fealty to the
accursed leaguer of the Pope called Charles the Emperor.

Throckmorton inclined his cap at an angle to the floor.

'How had ye that news that was so secret?' he asked.

The printer shook his dark beard with an air of heavy pleasure.

'Ye have a great organisation of spies,' he said, 'but better is the
whisper of God among the faithful.'

'Why,' Throckmorton answered, 'the magister Udal hath to his
sweetheart thy niece Margot Poins.'

At her name the printer's eyes filled with a sudden and violent heat.

'Seek another channel,' he cried, and waved his arms at the low
ceiling. 'Before the face of Almighty God I swear that I ha' no truck
with Margot my niece. Since she has been sib with the whore of the
devil called Kat Howard, never hath she told me a secret through her
paramour or elsewise. A shut head the heavy logget keepeth--let her
not come within reach of my hand.' He swayed back upon his feet. 'Let
her not come,' he said. He bent his brows upon Throckmorton. 'I
marvel,' he uttered, 'that ye who are so faithful a servant o' Privy
Seal's can have truck with the brother of my niece Margot.'

'Printer,' Throckmorton answered him, 'ye know well that when the
leaven of Protestantism hath entered in there, houses are divided
against themselves. A wench may be a foul Papist and serve, if ye
will, Kat Howard; but her brother shall yet be an indifferent good
servant for me.'

The printer, who had tolerated that his men should hear his panegyric
of the Bible and Privy Seal, scowled at them now so that again the
arms swung to and fro with the levers, the leads clicked. He put his
great head nearer Throckmorton's and muttered:

'Are ye certain my nephew serveth ye well? He was never wont to favour
our cause, and, before ye sent him on this errand, he was wont to cry
out in his cups that he was disgraced for having carried letters
betwixt Kat Howard and the King. If this were true he was no friend of
ours.'

'Why, it was true,' Throckmorton uttered negligently.

The printer caught at the spy's wrist, and the measure of his
earnestness showed the extent of his passion for Privy Seal's cause.

'Use him no more,' he said. 'Both child