And now they stood knocking at the door of his house, which opened
only a few hundred paces from the riverside.

They had to wait some little time; but Clarke was not impatient,
though he gave a peculiar knock more than once upon the door.
Presently it was opened a very little way, and a voice asked:

"Who are you, and what is your errand?"

"Crede et manducasti [i]," spoke Clarke, in a low voice; and at
once the door was opened wider.

He stepped within, and Dalaber followed him. They found themselves
in a very narrow entry hall, and could only see in the gloom that a
serving man stood before them.

"Tell your master that John Clarke from Oxford has come to lodge
with him for a few nights, if he can give him house room."

The man vanished, but almost immediately reappeared and beckoned to
them to follow. He took them down some steps, lighting the way by a
lantern; and after they had descended some score they reached a
door, which he pushed open, revealing a roomy, cellar-like vault,
in which some half-dozen men were busily employed; but so scanty
was the illumination that Dalaber could not for the moment see upon
what task they were bent.

One figure detached itself from the rest and came forward. Dalaber
found himself gazing at a small, wiry-looking man in the frock of a
priest, whose head was slightly bald in addition to the tonsure,