  He turned on me like a flash. “Do you know,” said he with an assumption of great dignity, “that when you are in another man’s house, it is wise to take things as they are!” “Is this really your house?” I asked. “Or are you toying with me?” He spun on his heel and went to the far end of the room. He came back with a candle in his hand which he had lit at the open fire. “I’ll show you the rest of it,” he remarked. “Come with me.” At that he inserted his finger in what seemed to be a knot-hole in the floor. To my surprise he lifted a great door which was set in the wood and bent it back on its hinges. Then, with the light high over his head he passed down a set of broad oak steps. A dank odor of damp air came to my nostrils. I set my foot on the first step with much caution and circumspection. I descended one by one until I stood on a clay floor. All around me were solid stone walls with no opening for air or ventilation. And here and there in these walls I saw recesses which were covered with doors that were of natural wood stained with dirt and finger-marks. Without stopping the scrivener went to the largest of these closets at the furthest corner of the cave and flung it open. If I was amazed at first I was quite beside myself now, for the whole of it was filled with all sorts of articles of clothing. Some of them were the trappings of soldiers with gilt and lace, others were suits of velvet, quite new, smooth and beautiful to see. Again there were common clothes such as peasants wear or even common laborers in the fields. “I know now,” I said, “why those fellows called you the ‘Will-o’-the-wisp’. You’re never the same man.” “When you live as I live, my lad,” he answered, “you must use your wits.” Then he turned my attention to another box or closet in the wall. When this was open he took from it a bundle tied and wrapped with thick cloth and matted straw. As carefully as if it were alive he untied the knots one by one and laid it flat upon the floor. “My arsenal,” he said. Then he revealed a bow about as long as he was high and with it a quiver containing a score of arrows. So unexpected was this that I let out a gasp. “I keep them wrapped up like this to protect them from the damp,” he explained. “When trouble comes——” “But why do you need all these?” I cried. “Surely——” He rose and pointed sternly towards the stairs. “If I’m hard pressed, I’m as safe here as in a castle,” he explained. “If they happen to get in the house, I can take refuge here. Look! Don’t you think I could drop them easily enough as they came down those steps one by one?” It seemed true enough but I was not yet satisfied. “Suppose they set the house afire?” I asked. He took me by the arm and led me to the part of the cave that was hidden under the stairs. Here it was gloomiest and very dark. The rays from the candle flickered as though they were sucked by a slight current of air. But where I expected to find a wall there was no wall at all, only a great hole large enough for a man to enter by stooping a little. It was of jagged rock on all sides, as canny a place as I had ever seen. “Let them fire the house,” he declared. “There is the way to freedom and the open air. It is fifty roods long. The other end leads out among rocks and the roots of ancient trees. You’d never find it in a week’s search not even if I showed it to you beforehand.” He put the clothing and the bow and arrows back as he had found them and we went again up the stairs. “Why have you shown me this hiding place of yours, master scrivener?” I inquired. “Aren’t you afraid lest some day I betray you?” He snapped his fingers. “It’s known already,” he said. “I’ll have to abandon it. Those two knaves outside will spread the news to all the world.” “It’s a shame,” I ventured. “It has served its purpose,” he answered. “But the Highwayman of Tours has a card up his sleeve. Further down the valley of the Loire I have another even better than this.” He tossed his head and sat down in the chair. He stared for a while at the floor deep in thought. I bethought me of my horse, for it was high time that I looked to him for the night. I went out to where I had tied him. My heart sank in my breast, for he was gone. I went over to where the two knaves had been lashed to the trees. All I found was a couple of strands of rope upon the ground. I burst into the house hot and excited. “They have gone!” I cried. “They have taken my horse with them!” The scrivener never raised his head. “I was hoping they would go,” he said calmly. “It’s your fault, master scrivener,” I flung at him. “When you were tying them, I noticed that you didn’t draw the knots tight enough.” “And that’s true,” he replied looking out from under his brows with a crafty smile. “But, Henri, you wouldn’t like to stand with your back against a tree for the whole night long, now, would you?” “But my horse?” I said. “They took that too?” he smiled. “Of course!” said I. “Well, well. It’s a great loss, indeed,” he replied. “A great loss.” He rose and yawned. Then he stretched himself. “There’s another way to look at it, Henri. What do you care about the horse when you have me?” “But I want him back,” I insisted. “I’ve a long——” “Tut. Tut. Lad,” the scrivener returned. “I know where they’ve taken him. He’ll be at the inn of ‘The Three Crows’. That’s the gathering place for all the desperate characters in the neighborhood. We’ll be there tomorrow and I’ll see to it that you get him back again.” |
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