"Did the ostler at Waltham Cross tell you what answer was given to the
inquiries?"

"No, sir--he heard your name only from the parlour window as he went
through the yard."

Now here was I in a quandary. On the one hand this was a very small
affair, and not much evidence either way, and I did not wish to alarm my
Cousin Tom if I need not; and, on the other if they were after me I had
best be gone as soon as I could. It was six months since the fellow
Dangerfield had asked after me at Whitehall, and no harm had followed.
Yet here was the tale of the branded hand--and, although there were many
branded hands in England, the consonance of this with what had happened,
misliked me a little.

"And was there any more news?" I asked.

"Why, yes, sir; I had forgot. The man told me too that the five Jesuits
were cast six days ago, and Mr. Langhorn a day later, and that they were
all sentenced together." (Mr. Langhorn was a lawyer, a very hot and
devout Catholic; but his wife was as hot a Protestant.)

Now on hearing that I was a little more perturbed. Here were Mr.
Whitbread and Mr. Fenwick, in whose company I had often been seen in
public before the late troubles, condemned and awaiting sentence; and
here was a fellow with a branded hand asking after me in Waltham Cross.
Oates and Bedloe and Tonge and Kirby and a score of others were evidence
that any man who sought his fortune might very well do so in Popish
plots and accusations; and it was quite believable that Dangerfield was
one more of them, and that after these new events he was after me. Yet,