Of the Man from Cornwall
this gentleman’s hiding-place. Is’t in his boots, eh? or perchance in his red hair? I vow I misremember, and yet I swear you did your business.”
For answer I drew my sword on him, but as yet he made no movement.”
“My poor Ryder,” he said, “know you not that, should I not finish you myself, there’s a score of stout fellows without the door?”
“Pooh!” said I. “And there’s a key to the door.”
Suddenly he turned, and stepping to the gate of that dungeon shot the bolt softly. “I wash my hands of you,” said he, drawing his own weapon at last. “But stay, we must not fight here, or the noise will reach the sentries.”
He seemed to consider, and then going to the further wall, took a key from the bunch he held, and turned it in the lock of a second door which was half-hid by the darkness.
“Here’s the room for our entertainment,” he said, and following on his heels I found myself of a sudden enveloped in the blackness of night.
“We may not fight here,” said I.
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