ere's luck!' says the big fellow, 'Bad
luck, as I'm a soul. Where's he lie?' 'Can't say,' says Gregory. 'His
messages go to the Conisby Arms, but he aren't there, I know.' 'The
Faithful Friend, was it,' says the big fellow, 'a-lying off Deptford
Creek?' 'Aye, the Faithful Friend,' says Gregory, and then chancing to
look outside, claps finger to lip and comes creeping into the shadow.
'Lie low!' says he in a whisper--here's my lady!' And then, master,
close outside comes my lady's voice calling 'Gregory! Gregory!'
'Answer, fool!' whispers the big man. 'Quick, or she'll be athwart our
cable!' 'Here, my lady!' says Gregory and steps out o' the stable as
she's about to step in. 'Gregory,' says she in hesitating fashion,
'have ye seen a stranger hereabouts to-night?' 'Not a soul, my lady!'
says Gregory. 'A tall, wild man,' says she, 'very ragged and with
yellow hair?' 'No, my lady,' says Gregory. Here she gives a sigh.
'Why then,' says she, 'bear you this letter to Master Penfeather--at
once.' 'To the Conisby Arms, my lady?' says Gregory. 'No,' says she,
'to the Peck-o'-Malt by Bedgebury Cross. And, Gregory, should you see
aught of the poor man that suffered lately in the pillory, say I would
speak with him. And now saddle and begone with my letter.' 'To
Bedgebury,' says Gregory, 'the Peck-o'-Malt--to-night, my lady?' 'This
moment!' says she, mighty sharp. 'And, Gregory, I hear tales of your
hard dealing with some of the tenantry: let me hear no more or you
quit my service!' And away she goes, leaving Gregory staring after
her, letter in hand. ''Twas she!' says the big man in a whisper. 'I'd
know her voice anywhere--aye, 'twas she whipped it from my girdle, my
luck, shipmates--our luck, but we'll find it if we have to pull the
cursed house down brick and brick.'"

"Godby," says Adam suddenly, leaning forward, "did ye get no glimpse o'
this man's face?"

"Nary a one, master, and for why?--the place was dark and he wore a
great flapped hat."

"Why then," says Adam, pinching his chin, "did ye chance to see his
hands?"

"No whit, master, and for why?--he wore a loose cloak about him."

"And what more did ye hear?"

"No more, master, and for why?--because, as luck would have it a straw
tickled my nose and I sneezed loud as a demi-culverin, and there's poor
Godby up and running for his life and these murderous rogues after poor
Godby. Howbeit they durst not shoot lest they should alarm the house,
and I'm