"What I can tell you, my French upstart," Darby retorted, "is that this night's work will bring you heavy punishment." "Forsooth! From whom?" "From me perchance; from the King surely." De Lacy laughed disdainfully. "You always were a braggart, I have heard; yet you will need all your wits to save your own head when arraigned before him." "Arraigned! Save my head! These are queer expressions for such as you to use to a Peer of England." "No more queer than for a Peer of England to be an abductor of women." "You are still pleased to speak in riddles," Darby answered with a shrug. "Pardieu! it will be a riddle for which you have a shrewd answer ready for His Majesty." "Methinks you have lost what little sense ever had and are not responsible," said Darby; "therefore I have the pleasure of wishing you a very good night," and he turned toward the door. De Lacy laughed scornfully. "Not so fast, my lord," he said. "You will have to bear with my poor company for a space. The King is at Lincoln." "What has that to do with me? . . . Stand aside, fellow," as Dauvrey barred the way. For answer the squire drew dagger and the man-at-arms laid a heavy hand on Darby's shoulder. It was useless to try bare fists against such odds and he wheeled about. "What means this fresh outrage?" he demanded. "It means that you are my prisoner." "Your prisoner! And wherefore?" "As the abductor of the Countess of Clare." Darby held up his hands in amazement. "Are you clean daft?" he exclaimed. "It is useless, my lord, longer to play the innocent," said Aymer. "Either confess what has been done with the Countess or to the King you go straightway." Darby shrugged his shoulders. "Since you have the rogues to obey you and I have not the information you desire, it must be to the King," he said. "And the more haste you use to reach him the quicker will come my time to even scores with you," and he sat down and began to brush the dirt from his garments. De Lacy eyed him in stern silence, his resentment growing fiercer as he held it in restraint; while the squire, in equal anger, kept shooting his dagger back and forth in its sheath as if impatient to use it. And but for the sake of the information Darby could furnish as to Beatrix, the dagger might have been suffered to do its work and De Lacy raise no hand to stay it. Nay, rather, would he have stood by and watched it strike home with grim satisfaction. Presently Darby had finished with his clothes and glancing up met De Lacy's eyes. A taunting smile came to his lips and he began to whistle softly to himself. It was De Lacy who spoke first. "I should like to know," said he, "how one of your craftiness could be so stupid as to carry off the Countess of Clare? What possible profit could you think to gain?" Darby did not answer at once. When he did, it was with a sneer.