There was a shout below as the Captain thrust the lattice open: another, and the two dark forms had clambered through the purple square of the casement, and dropped into the bowling-green below.
By this, I had made my way across the room, and found Anthony sunk against the wall, with his feet outstretched. There was something he held out toward me, groping for my hand and at the same time whispering in a thick, choking voice—
“Here, Jack, here: pocket it quick!”
’Twas a letter, and as my fingers closed on it they met a damp smear, the meaning of which was but too plain.
“Button it—sharp—in thy breast: now feel for my sword.”
“First let me tend thy hurt, dear lad.”
“Nay—quickly, my sword! ’Tis pretty, Jack, to hear thee say ‘dear lad.’ A cheat to die like this—could have laugh’d for years yet. The dice were cogg’d—hast found it?”
I groped beside him, found the hilt, and held it up.
“So—’tis thine, Jack: and my mare, Molly, and the letter to take. Say to Delia—Hark! they are on the stairs. Say to—”
With a shout the door was flung wide, and on the threshold stood the Watch, their lanterns held high and shining in Anthony’s white face, and on the black stain where his doublet was thrown open.
In numbers they were six or eight, led by a small, wrynecked man that held a long staff, and wore a gilt chain over his furr’d collar. Behind, in the doorway, were huddled half a dozen women, peering: and Master Davenant at the back of all, his great face looming over their shoulders like a moon.
“Now, speak up, Master Short!”
“Aye, that I will—that I will: but my head is considering of affairs,” answered Master Short—he of the wryneck. “One, two, three—” He look’d round the room, and finding but one capable of resisting (for the potboy was by this time in a fit), clear’d his throat, and spoke up—
“In the king’s name, I arrest you all—so help me God! Now what’s the matter?”
“Murder,” said I, looking up from my work of staunching Anthony’s wound.
“Then forbear, and don’t do it.”
“Why, Master Short, they’ve been forbearin’ these ten minutes,” a woman’s voice put in.
“Hush, and hear Master Short: he knows the law, an’ all the dubious maxims of the same.”
“Aye, aye: he says forbear i’ the King’s name, which is to say, that other forbearing is neither law nor grace. Now then, Master Short!”
Thus exhorted, the man of law continued—
“I charge ye as honest men to disperse!”
“Odds truth, Master Short, why you’ve just laid ’em under arrest!”
“H’m, true: then let ’em stay so—in the king’s name—and have done with it.”
Master Short, in fact, was growing testy: but now the women push’d by him, and, by screaming at the sight of blood, put him out of all patience. Dragging them back by the skirts, he told me he must take the depositions, and pull’d out pen and ink horn.
“Sirs,” said I, laying poor Anthony’s head softly back, “you are too late: whilst ye were cackling my friend is dead.”
“Then, young man, thou must come along.”
“Come along?”
“The charge is homocidium, or manslaying, with or without malice prepense—”
“But—” I look’d round. The potboy was insensible, and my eyes fell on Master Davenant, who slowly shook his head.
“I’ll say not a word,” said he, stolidly: “lost twenty pound, one time, by a lawsuit.”
“Pack of fools!” I cried, driven beyond endurance. “The guilty ones have escap’d these ten minutes. Now stop me who dares!”
And dashing my left fist on the nose of a watchman who would have seized me, I clear’d a space with Anthony’s sword, made a run for the casement, and dropp’d out upon the bowling-green.
A pretty shout went up as I pick’d myself off the turf and rush’d for the back door. ’Twas unbarr’d, and in a moment I found myself tearing down the passage and out into the Corn Market, with a score or so tumbling downstairs at my heels, and yelling to stop me. Turning sharp to my right, I flew up Ship Street, and through the Turl, and doubled back up the High Street, sword in hand. The people I pass’d were too far taken aback, as I suppose, to interfere. But a many must have join’d in the chase: for presently the street behind me was thick with the clatter of footsteps and cries of “A thief—a thief! Stop him!”
At Quater Voies I turn’d again, and sped down toward St. Aldate’s, thence to the left by Wild Boar Street, and into St. Mary’s Lane. By this, the shouts had grown fainter, but were still following. Now I knew there was no possibility to get past the city gates, which were well guarded at night. My hope reach’d no further than the chance of outwitting the pursuit for a while longer. In the end I was sure the potboy’s evidence would clear me, and therefore began to enjoy the fun. Even my certain expulsion from College on the morrow seem’d of a piece with the rest of events and (prospectively) a matter for laughter. For the struggle at the Crown had unhinged my wits, as I must suppose and you must believe, if you would understand my behavior in the next half hour.
A bright thought had struck me: and taking a fresh wind, I set off again round the corner of Oriel College, and down Merton Street toward Master Timothy Carter’s house, my mother’s cousin. This gentleman—who was town clerk to the Mayor and Corporation of Oxford—was also in a sense my guardian, holding in trust about £200 (which was all my inheritance), and spending the same jealously on my education. He was a very small, precise lawyer, about sixty years old, shaped like a pear, with a prodigious self-important manner that came of associating with great men: and all the knowledge I had of him was pick’d up on the rare occasions (about twice a year) that I din’d at
