“’Moor-man, I know that your master is from home, but that the lady is here.  I would speak with her.’

“Now I would have turned him away, but at that moment the lady herself, who it seemed was watching, came down the stairs, looking very white, and said: 

“’Kari, let the lord come in.  I have matters of your master’s business about which I must talk with him.’  So, Master, knowing that you had lent money to this lord, I obeyed, though I liked it not, and having fetched the sword which I thought perchance might be needed, I waited.”

This was the substance of what he said, though his talk was more broken since he never learned to speak English well and helped it out with words of his own tongue, of which, as I have told, he had taught me something.

“I do not understand,” I exclaimed, when he had finished.  “Doubtless it is little or nothing.  Yet give me the sword, for who knows? and come with me.”

Kari obeyed, and as I went up the stairs I buckled Wave-Flame about me.  Also Kari brought two candles of Italian wax lighted upon their stands.  Coming to the door of the solar I tried to open it, but it was bolted.

“God’s truth!” I said, “this is strange,” and hammered on the panel with my fist.

Presently it opened, but before entering it, for I feared some trick, I stood without and looked in.  The room was lit by a hanging lamp and a fire burned brightly on the hearth, for the night was cold.  In an oak chair by the fire and staring into it sat Blanche still as any statue.  She glanced round and saw me in the light of the candles that Kari held, and again stared into the fire.  Half-way between her and the door stood Deleroy, dressed as ever in fine clothes, though I noted that his cape was off and hung over a stool near the fire as though to dry.  I noted also that he wore a sword and a dagger.  I entered the room, followed by Kari, shut the door behind me and shot the bolt.  Then I spoke, asking: 

“Why are you here with my wife, Lord Deleroy?”

“It is strange, Master merchant,” he answered, “but I was about to put much the same question to you:  namely, why is my wife in your house?”

Now, while I reeled beneath these words, without turning her head, Blanche by the fire said: 

“He lies, Hubert.  I am not his wife.”

“Why are you here, my Lord Deleroy?” I repeated.

“Well, if you would know, Master merchant, I bring a paper for you, or rather a copy of it, for the writ itself will be served on you to-morrow by the King’s officers.  It commits you to the Tower under the royal seal for trading with the King’s enemies, a treason that can be proved against you, of which as you know, or will shortly learn, the punishment is death,” and as he spoke he threw a writing down upon a side table.

“I see the plot,” I answered coldly.  “The King’s unworthy favourite, forger and thief, uses the King’s authority to try to bring the King’s honest subject to bonds and death by a false accusation.  It is a common trick in these days.  But let that be.  For the third time I ask you—­why are you here with my new-wed wife and at this hour of the night?”