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 it 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 his table. He had early married and lost an aged shrew, whose money had been the making of him: and had more respect for law and authority than any three men in Oxford. So that I reflected, with a kind of desperate hilarity, on the greeting he was like to give me.
This kinsman of mine had a fine house at the east end of Merton Street as you turn into Logic Lane: and I was ten yards from the front door, and running my fastest, when suddenly I tripp'd and fell headlong.
Before I could rise, a hand was on my shoulder, and a voice speaking in my ear—
“Pardon, comrade. We are two of a trade, I see.”
'Twas a fellow that had been lurking at the corner of the lane, and had thrust out a leg as I pass'd. He was pricking up his ears now to the cries of “Thief—thief!” that had already reach'd the head of the street, and were drawing near.
“I am no thief,” said I. — “Quick!” He dragged me into the shadow of the lane. “Hast a crown in thy pocket?”
“Why?”
“Why, for a good turn. I'll fog these gentry for thee. Many thanks, comrade,” as I pull'd out the last few shillings of my pocket money. “Now pitch thy sword over the wall here, and set thy foot on my hand. 'Tis a rich man's garden, t'other side, that I was meaning to explore myself; but another night will serve.”
“'Tis Master Carter's,” said I; “and he's my kinsman.”
“The devil!—but never mind, up with thee! Now mark a pretty piece of play. 'Tis pity thou shouldst be across the wall and unable to see.”
He gave a great hoist: catching at the coping of the wall, I pull'd myself up and sat astride of it.
“Good turf below—ta-ta, comrade!”
By now, the crowd was almost at the corner. Dropping about eight feet on to good turf, as the fellow had said, I pick'd myself up and listen'd.
“Which way went he?” call'd one, as they came near.
“Down the street!” “No: up the lane!'” “Hush!” “Up the lane, I'll be sworn.” “Here, hand the lantern!” &c., &c.
While they debated, my friend stood close on the other side of the wall: but now I heard him dash suddenly out, and up the lane for his life. “There he goes!” “Stop him!” the cries broke out afresh. “Stop him, i' the king's name!” The whole pack went pelting by, shouting, stumbling, swearing.
For two minutes or more
