be
looking at the hanging that was over the press where they kept the
tankards, as if I had no curiosity in the world.

"Here, Mr. Mallock," said my friend's voice behind me. "Look at this."

He had drawn out a little black pocket-book, leather-bound, and with it
three or four loose papers. I sat down by him, and took it from him.

"It is some kind of an account-book," I said.

"You are right, sir," said Mr. Rumbald.

He sat with an air of vast importance, while I examined the book. It had
a great number of entries, concerning such things as accounts for beer
and other refreshments, with others which I could not understand. There
were also the names of inns in London, with marks opposite to them, and
times of day written down besides. I could make nothing of all this; so
I turned to the papers. Here, to my astonishment, on one of them was
written a list of names, some very well known, beginning with my Lord
Shaftesbury's, and on the two others a number of notes in short-hand,
with three or four of the same names as before written long-hand. One of
these slipped to the floor as I held them, and I stooped to pick it up;
when I raised my head again, the pocket-book and the other two papers
had disappeared again into Mr. Rumbald's possession. He did not seem to
have seen the one that fell, so I held it on my knee beneath the table,
thinking to examine it later.

"Well?" I asked. "What is the matter?"

The maltster had an air of great mystery upon his face. He regarded me
sternly, though his eyes watered a little.

"Enough to hang us all," he said; and I saw the fierce light in his eyes
again, through the veil of drink.

"Why; how is that?" asked I, slipping the paper I held, behind me, and
into the skirt pocket of my coat.

"Those accounts," he said, "they are all for the procession; for I
provided myself a good deal of the refreshment; and was paid for it by
a man of my Lord's, who has signed the book."

"And the two papers?" I asked.

"Ah!" said Mr. Rumbald. "That is another matter altogether."

I feigned that I was incurious.

"Well," I said, "every man to his own trade. I would not meddle with
another's, for the world."

"That is best," said my friend.

I tried a sentence or two more; but caution seemed to have returned to
him, though a little late; and I presently saw I should get no more out
of him. I congratulated him again on the pleasant evening we had spent;
and five minutes later we went down