Before he had time to spring to his feet and fling it off his shoulders, it was drawn tightly round his neck with a quick jerk, and he was lifted almost off his feet. The peril was extreme, and realizing in a flash that only the most desperate exertions could save him, Edgar grasped the rope above the slip knot with his left hand, while with his right he drew his dagger and reached up to cut the rope, straining on tiptoe to get a purchase. Suddenly a trapdoor, upon which his chair had evidently been placed, gave way beneath his feet, and the whole of his weight fell upon his left arm. Choking, half-strangled, with eyes starting from his head, Edgar strove to cut the rope with his dagger. One stroke, feeble from his straining position and reeling brain--a second stroke--then a third, into which all his remaining strength was put--and like a stone he fell half-fainting through the trapdoor into a cellar below. For a moment or two he was unable to move. Half-strangled and half-dazed by the dread attack and sudden fall, he was in so helpless a condition that he could not have lifted a hand to save his life. The noise of footsteps on the stone stairs leading to the cellar and the harsh grating of a key in the lock roused him a little, however, and he feebly extricated himself from the legs of the chair upon which he had fallen. Scarcely had he done so before two men, one of whom bore a torch, ran hurriedly in and rushed at him with knives upraised. The man bearing the light Edgar recognized as James Baulch. Against their attack Edgar at first could defend himself but feebly. His hand still clutched the dagger with which he had severed the rope, but before he was in a condition to use it he had received several body thrusts that would have dispatched him outright had it not been for the shirt of steel mail he wore beneath his clothing. Every moment, however, his strength came back, and, watching his chance, presently he parried a blow from Baulch’s companion, and brought the hilt of his own dagger down upon the ruffian’s head with all his strength. The man dropped prone in his tracks amid a yell of wrath from the men in the room above, who were eagerly peering down at the conflict from the opening in the floor. Feeling that his chance had come, Edgar sprang fiercely upon Baulch and flung him to the floor, the torch spinning from his hand to the other end of the cellar. Kneeling upon the man’s chest and placing his dagger at his throat, Edgar cried sternly: "Tell me where is Sir John Chartris, or thou shall die." The man gasped with amazement and fear, and cried hastily: "At Ruthènes." "Where is this Ruthènes?" cried Edgar quickly.