"Ay," said I, "but he must needs find it first. Eh? That will trouble
him, eh? honest Tom."

"Honest! thou art right, comrade. Ere he learn where she be I'll--
I'll--harkee, friend I like not that other varlet. What needs she with
two of us? Am not I man enough? eh? thou and I, without him? By my
soul, comrade, I will slay him."

"So, he is there, too, where she is?"

"Ho, he! Jack Gedge in a convent? ho, he! Ne'er such luck for him, or
thee, or me; eh? ho, ho! Jack in a convent? No, but, comrade," here he
took my arm and whispered, "he ne'er quitteth the city, and no man can
get at her but he knows it. 'Tis a very bulldog. Hang him, comrade,
hang him, I say."

"Ay, I am with you there," said I. "What right hath he to stand betwixt
her and honest folk like you and me?"

"Harkee, friend. This varlet, they say, was appointed to the service by
one--hang the name of him--an Irish knave that made eyes at her. You
know him--"

"Ay, ay," said I. "Lubin, or Ludar, or some such name."

"Thou hast it. Ludar. Well, as I told thee, this varlet is appointed
to the charge by this Lu-- Say it again, comrade."

"Ludar," said I.

"Ay, Ludar. Well, this varlet, as I--"

"And where is the villain now?"

"Why, as I told thee, dullard, he lurks in Canterbury city hard by the
convent--and though 'twas I helped her there--I or thou, I forget if
thou didst assist--I say, though 'twas I--or I or thou--or I and thou--
helped her there, this dog now keepeth guard like a very bulldog."

"Well," said I, trembling to have so much news, "may be he doeth no
harm. The lady oweth more to thee than him."

"Ay--'twas a deft trick, spiriting her thither--and the Captain little
knows 'twas honest Tom Price baulked him. Not but--harkee,"--here he
whispered again--"not but the lady did not make it worth the while, eh?
I have a noble of it left still, comrade. As I told thee, the Captain
knoweth naught. He! he! he hath followed her hither and thither. But,
mercy on us, he'd as soon look in the Fleet Ditch as in Canterbury.
Harkee, comrade, that other varlet is a knave. Hang him, I say. 'Twas
thou and I helped her there--he knew naught till--how a plague found he
us out? Honest friend, I pray thee slay me this dog."

"Where in Canterbury shall I find him?" said I.

"Thou knowest a certain tavern, or inn, or hostel by the sign of the
Oriflame, neighbour. Well, 'tis but a stone's-throw from the convent;
and I warra