Inch by inch, cat-like, Sir Nicholas came towards him. A board creaked suddenly under his foot; the cloaked man turned sharply, and as he turned Beauvallet's fist shot out. The man fell without a sound, and Sir Nicholas saw that he had knocked out no less a personage than Don Cristobal de Porres, Governor of the Guards. "God save the mark, my noble gaoler!" said Sir Nicholas, and stepped over Porres' prostrate form to the door. He shut it, cast a quick glance at the limp figure, and went to the bed. With one eye watchfully upon the Governor he slit the fine brocade coverlet into strips with his dagger, and came back to kneel beside the still form. "Nay, but I am sorry for this, my poor friend," he said, and stuffed one of his strips into Don Cristobal's slack mouth. Another, torn across was tied hastily round to keep the rude gag in place. He unclasped the cloak from about Don Cristobal's neck, and the gleaming collar of the Golden Fleece met his eyes. Off it came; Sir Nicholas gave a tiny chuckle. "My dear friend," said he, "I believe this may stand me in very good stead. You shall not grudge it me." He fastened the collar round his own neck, unbuckled the baldrick that held the Governor's rapier, and neatly bound the unfortunate man's ankles and wrists. As he tied the last knot Don Cristobal stirred, and opened his eyes. They fell on Beauvallet, seemed bewildered at first, and then as full consciousness returned, furious. "I know, I know," said Sir Nicholas. "I am sorry for it, señor, but you will admit I am hard-pressed." His eyes twinkled. "A churlish return for all your kindness, Don Cristobal, and I would not have had you think El Beauvallet so ungrateful a dog." He saw the look of consternation leap into the Governor's face, and laughed. "Oh yes, señor, I am El Beauvallet." As he spoke he was buckling the rich baldrick about his waist. "Señor, I must stow you away. Keep my sword in exchange for this of yours; it is a rare blade, and you may say with truth that you were the only man who ever took aught from Nick Beauvallet against his will. Now, señor, if you please." He had opened the door of the cupboard, and now he bundled Don Cristobal into it, and shut the door upon him. He picked up the cloak, fastened it about his shoulders, and disposed its ample folds about his person. The Governor's lace handkerchief and long cane lay on the floor; Sir Nicholas gathered them up, set the broad-brimmed hat well over his eyes, thanked God for a beard and a pair of mustachios very like Don Cristobal's, and walked to the door. As he laid his hand on the latch there was a scratching on one of the panels, and a man's voice called: "Señor, the coach waits." "In a very good hour!" thought Sir Nicholas. "God send I may brazen this out. I thank my luck that the light is behind me. Forward, El Beauvallet!" He opened the door, and went calmly out into the passage.