"For all that you have done, or left undone, I, the Commissioner of his Grace, declare that you shall go scot free and that no action criminal or civil shall lie against you, and this my secretary shall give to you in writing.

Now, good fellow, rise, but steal Satan's plumes no more lest you should feel his claws and beak, for he is an ill fowl to mock.
Bring hither that Spaniard Maldon.

I have somewhat to say to him." Now they looked this way and that, but no Abbot could they see.

The guards swore that they had never taken eye off him, even when they all ran before the devil, yet certainly he was gone.
"The knave has given us the slip," bellowed the Commissioner, who was purple with rage.

"Search for him! Seize him, for which my command shall be your warrant.