"Here we play the knavish servant," Joshua encouraged himself. "What it is to have a head on one's shoulders!" He found Sir Nicholas' strong-box, and forced it open with the point of his dagger. "Ay, thus it goes. We take the money, and some few papers we may need, and leave the box to tell of our thieving. Ha, what's this?" He unfolded the Chevalier de Guise's pass. "Softly, Joshua, that should be found, for I think we have no more need of it, and it may very easily help Sir Nicholas. We must be supposed to have searched in vain for it." He looked round him, saw a loose mandilion he had pulled out of the cupboard, and caught it up. "In the pocket, I believe. Lie there then, and I hope they may find you." He tucked the pass into an inner pocket, and hung the coat up at the back of the cupboard. "Ay, we sought it, and found it not. It may serve you yet, master." He came away from the cupboard. "Cheerly, Joshua! all will be well yet. Now to stow these clothes away." He packed as much of Sir Nicholas' raiment as he could carry with him, hid the jewels about his own person, and nipped out to get such of his own traps as he should need. Still there came no sound of guards approaching to seize Beauvallet's papers. Joshua spied from the window, listened, heard only the voice of a tapster below, and drew in again to finish his work. Two neat bundles stood ready upon the floor, but this did not seem to be enough for Joshua Dimmock. He went to work to create more havoc, and succeeded very fairly. A small chest he had emptied he chose to lock, and then break open. He tossed an old doublet into it, a pair of stocks, a riding boot. "Ay, that is the way it goes. The naughty knave to rifle his master's chest! Master, you may live to thank God you have me for your servant yet." He stood back, and surveyed the litter. "A rare gallimaufry, by my faith! What more? God's light! The sword!" He slapped his forehead, and darted to unearth the weapon from the depths of the cupboard in the wall. Out it came, that blade from the hand of Ferrara, delicate, flexible, with straight quillons, and a knuckle-bow of two shell shapes, chased with gold. "_My bite is sure!_" quoth Joshua. "I warrant me!" Downstairs the inn was quiet, for it was late into the evening now. Joshua might have got away with none to see his flight, but chose instead to stumble into the sleepy tapster. He executed a well-feigned start, and let fly a French oath. "_Sangdieu!_" A ducat was pressed into the tapster's hand. "You do not see me," said Joshua. "Eh?" "I see you very plainly," said the tapster, a-gape.