It was in the late afternoon of the following day that De Lacy, strolling along Bishopgate Street, chanced upon Sir John de Bury near the White Hart Inn, the newest and most popular hostelry in London. "By St. Luke," Sir John exclaimed, "you are a welcome sight. Come and drink a measure of Burgundy, and I will tell you a bit of news." They pushed their way through the motley throng in the main room and, coming upon the landlord, were conducted with many bows and smiles to a retired corner and in a moment the wine was set before them. Sir John lifted high the vessel and watched the heavy liquid fall. Then taking a sip he let it run slowly down his throat. "Not bad, by half," he said, smacking his lips with the air of a connoisseur, and drained his cup at a draught. "What think you of the Coronation?" "It was a noble spectacle, and a proper act for England." "Aye, it was--yet I would that Hastings and not Stanley had borne the Mace." "And that Stanley had been sent in Hastings' place to Chapel Green?" De Lacy asked. "By St. Luke, yes!" said Sir John instantly; then he leaned over and put his hand on Aymer's shoulder--"and truly, it was a gallant thing you and De Wilton did that mournful morning. Has Gloucester--the King, I mean--said aught to you of it, or has it not reached his ears?" De Lacy laughed. "He knew it ere he left the Tower, but he found no fault with us." "And if I know Richard, he liked you both the better for it. . . Here, fellow, another measure of wine, and see that it be of the same barrel. . . These rogues need watching else will they serve poorer stuff the second time, as you have likely noticed." "Human nature, and innkeepers' nature in particular, does not change between Dover and Calais; yet they would hardly do us the discourtesy to think that our heads muddled so easily." "Nay, lad, I was but following my motto that it is better to warn before the fight than after." "Did you warn before the fight in Yorkshire?" "By St. Luke! there was the fitting moment for the motto, but the villains would give me no breathing space to speak. And that reminds me: do you recall the smooth-tongued Abbot of Kirkstall?" "In truth, I do," said Aymer. "The most inquisitive monk I have chanced upon in many a day." "Well, the notion grips me hard that the Abbot Aldam could tell some tales about that little incident, and violate no secret of confessional either. There have been strange rumors lately touching his Abbey and the style of servitors it employs at times." "Then we at least decreased their numbers--but one escaped, if I remember rightly," Aymer replied. "Aye--one; but it is enough. Some day I may chance upon him and then . . . I shall know the story." "Can you recognize the rogue?" "Instantly. I marked him well, for I had wounded him in the face by a thrust he turned but half aside. A short, thick-set, red-haired knave, with a nose as flat as a sword blade."