We have seen how near was the palace to the abbey, and how the palace keeper’s monastic friends formed a living bridge between the two. One result of these pleasant social relations was that the Abbey of Westminster soon became familiar ground to Pudlicott. One day, when disturbed at the hopelessness of getting his grievances redressed by the king, he wandered through the cloisters of the abbey, and noticed with greedy eyes the rich stores of silver plate carried in and out of the refectory of the monks, by the servants who were waiting on the brethren at meals. The happy idea struck him to seek a means to “enable him to come at the goods which he saw”. Thus the king’s foundation might, somewhat irregularly, be made to pay the king’s debts. Pudlicott soon laid his plans accordingly. The very day after the king left Westminster, Pudlicott found a ladder reared up against a house near the palace gate. He put this ladder against one of the windows of the chapter house; he climbed up the ladder; found a window that opened by means of a cord; opened the window and swung himself by the same cord into the chapter house. Thence he made his way to the refectory, and secured a rich booty of plate which he managed to carry off and sell. Pudlicott’s success with the monks’ plate did not profit him for long. Within nine months—and we may believe surely this part of his not too veracious tale—the proceeds of the sale of the silver cups and dishes of the abbey had been eaten up. No doubt the loose life he was living and the revels with the keepers of the palace involved a constant need for plentiful supplies of ready cash. Anyhow by the end of 1302 Richard was again destitute, and looking out for something more to steal. It was, doubtless, dangerous to rob the monks any more, and perhaps the intimacy which was now established between him and his monastic boon companions suggested to Richard a more excellent way of restoring his fortunes. His plan was now to rob the king’s treasury, and his success seemed assured since, as he tells us, he “knew the premises of the abbey, where the treasury was, and how he might come to it”. How he profited by his knowledge we shall soon see, but first we must for a moment part company with Pudlicott’s “confession,” which up to now I have followed with hesitation. But for the next stage of our story it is plainly almost the contrary of the truth. Before we can with advantage explain why we can no longer trust his tale, it would be well for us to state what this treasury was and how it could be got at.