It was a solid, honest-looking room: the bed had tall posts and a tick swollen with feathers; the sheets were white and smelled sweet as he stretched himself between them. There was not a sound but the wind and the shaking of the window-frames. All the people of the countryside must be indoors, he thought, to avoid the cold. And they showed good sense in that. There was nothing so disagreeable as a bleak night, afloat or ashore; and there was nothing quite so comfortable as a snug bed. He had nothing to say against good company, mind you, or a cheery fire and some hot drink, and tales of adventuring here and there. Many a bad night might be turned to pleasant account that way. It was a fine, good-humored, and companionable way. But, after all, a good bed--long enough, so that one might stretch out in it--was best; you could lie and think if you had the mind, or you could doze off luxuriously with nothing to prevent you. Anthony dozed off; and then he slept. And finally he awoke. He did not know how much time had passed; but he did know that his room door was partly open, and that some one stood there looking in. The part-light glinted coldly upon the long barrel of a pistol; a man held the weapon in both hands, and it was pointed toward the bed; one eye of the man glanced sharply along its length, and the other was covered by a patch. Then there were quick feet in the passage; there was a voice,--a woman's voice,--angry, but whispering, a scuffling, a curse! Then the door closed and a key shot-to the bolt. Anthony leaped out of bed; he opened the door with his own key, and looked out. The passage was lighted grayly by a window at one end; it was empty and silent. For an instant it was in his mind to believe he had been dreaming; but there upon the floor, the morning light cold upon its barrel, lay a holster pistol, its hammer drawn back at full cock. XVIII As he stood looking at the pistol lying on the floor of the passage, a rage grew in Anthony's breast; he returned to his room and drew on his clothes; into the passage he went once more, took up the pistol, and looked to its loading and priming at the window. Then, lowering the hammer and holding to the barrel, he thumped upon the door nearest him with the butt. "Landlord! Everybody! Turn out! My life has been put in danger in this damned house! Landlord!" From door to door, down the passage, he went; the pistol butt fell noisily upon each, and at each he swore bitter oaths. "Landlord! Out with you! By God, there's not a man in all this place but must answer to me!" There were hurried sounds behind the closed doors; a servant of the inn came toiling up the stairs. "Sir," said he. "You'll have the house aroused. What is the matter?" "Get me the landlord," directed Anthony. "Tell him not to delay. I have a sharp word or two for that good man." "The landlord is still abed," said the servant.