Noon came and
Humphrey managed to find a place for himself and horse at an inn. "I
may as well eat and drink," he said, "for what profit is it to be going
up and down these narrow streets? At every turn is this little cock of
a king's man who, though he croweth not with his mouth, doeth so with
his looks. I know not for whom he is seeking. Not for me, or he would
assail me and capture me and put me to the torture to tell him where
Hugo is, for he thinketh Hugo is Josceline, which he is not, but a
stranger, and a headstrong one. There is nothing in dreaming of going
up a ladder or climbing a tree, if I get not the better of him." And so
he betook him to his dinner.
The little spy followed him, and the innkeeper was obliged to make
room for him also, which, when Humphrey saw, he changed his opinion as
to whom the spy was in search of. "He thinketh," said Humphrey to
himself, with sudden enlightenment, "to follow me quietly and so find
Hugo."
Humphrey was ever a gross eater, and Walter Skinner watched him with
great impatience and dissatisfaction. For Humphrey ate as if no anxiety
preyed upon his mind, but as if his whole concern was to make away with
all placed before him.
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