Waiting for no more, Edgar, who was light of touch and supple as an eel, stole softly from the bed and made for the corner of the room away from the window. He dreaded unspeakably that he might come into contact with something--he knew not what--on the way; but he reached his coign of vantage without mishap. Then he waited motionless for events to develop. Though he still heard no sound, he felt even more convinced than before that the room was occupied by other than themselves--and, by the strange feeling of fear that he could not thrust away from himself, thoroughly as he despised it, occupied by something grim and terrible. Presently he heard a slight rustling, as though Matthew were leaving his bed, and a moment later the curtain was jerked back, admitting into the room a stream of moonlight. Simultaneously with the pulling of the curtain three figures became visible to Edgar between him and the light. The upright figure nearest to the window was Matthew, he had no doubt, but the two other figures crouching low upon the floor he could not recognize, though the glint of steel he caught from one showed that their presence boded ill indeed. Silently, with a bound fierce as a tiger’s, one of the men sprang upon Matthew. With a movement as quick the man-at-arms avoided the blow aimed at him and closed with his assailant. Simultaneously the other man stood up and swung a club up into the air and down behind his back as he prepared to strike down Matthew while he grappled with his foe. With the speed of an arrow Edgar sprang forward. Seizing the club he gave it a quick, wrenching pull and tore it from the man’s grasp. Then as quickly he swung it heavily down upon the assassin’s head. With a groan the man sank limply to the floor. Turning to the other combatants, Edgar saw that Matthew was holding his assailant’s right hand with his left, and had wrenched his own hand free and grasped his dagger. There was a flash as the moonlight gleamed upon the bright steel, then the stroke fell heavily upon the ruffian’s side. But though the blade pierced his clothing it snapped off short against his skin! "_Bewitched! Bewitched!_" shrieked Matthew in superstitious terror, as he let go his hold and fell upon his knees. Babbling incoherently and crossing himself convulsively, he seemed oblivious of his fearful danger. Fortunately the suddenness with which he had let go his hold sent the ruffian staggering back into a corner, but like a wild cat he was back again, and in another moment the knife must have been plunged into Matthew’s body had not Edgar screamed piercingly as he dashed forward. "_Shirt of mail_, Matthew, _shirt of mail!_" Matthew heard and understood his meaning just in time. Plunging full length upon the floor, he avoided the murderous stroke, and the man, in the darkness, pitched over him into the wall. Ere he had recovered from the shock Edgar had sprung clean upon his back.