"All in good time. But first, young sir, where did you get that fine
armour? If you stole it, it should be better hid."

"Stole it!" I began in wrath. "Am I a London chapman----?"

"I think not, though you may be before all is done, for who knows what
vile tricks Fortune will play us? Well, if you did not steal it, mayhap
you slew the wearer and are a murderer, for I see black blood on the
steel."

"Murderer!" I gasped.

"Aye, just as you say John Grimmer is a knave. But if not, then
perchance you slew the French knight who wore it on Hastings Hill, ere
you loosed the three arrows at the mouth of the cave near Minnes Rock."

Now I gaped at him.

"Shut your mouth, young man, lest those teeth of yours should fall
out. You wonder how I know? Well, my friend John Grimmer, the goldsmith
knave, has a magic crystal which he purchased from one who brought it
from the East, and I saw it in that crystal."

As he spoke, as though by chance he pushed back the hood that covered
his head, revealing a wrinkled old face with a mocking mouth which
drooped at one corner, a mouth that I knew again, although many years
had passed since I looked upon it as a boy.

"You are John Grimmer!" I muttered.