“Why, it is the landlord,” said Denys. “Get up, thou craven heart!” shouted one of the archers. “Why, man, the thieves are bound, and we are dry that bound them. Up! and show us thy wine; for no bottles see here.” “What, be the rascals bound?” stammered the pale landlord; “good news. W-w-wine? that will I, honest sirs.” And he rose with unsure joints and offered to lead the way to the wine cellar. But Denys interposed. “You are all in the dark, comrades. He is in league with the thieves.” “Alack, good soldier, me in league with the accursed robbers! Is that reasonable?” “The girl said so anyway.” “The girl! What girl? Ah! Curse her, traitress!” “Well,” interposed the other archer; “the girl is not here, but gone on to the bailiff. So let the burghers settle whether this craven be guilty or no: for we caught him not in the act: and let him draw us our wine.” “One moment,” said Denys shrewdly. “Why cursed he the girl? If he be a true man, he should bless her as we do.” “Alas, sir!” said the landlord, “I have but my good name to live by, and I cursed her to you, because you said she had belied me.” “Humph! I trow thou art a thief, and where is the thief that cannot lie with a smooth face? Therefore hold him, comrades: a prisoner can draw wine an if his hands be not bound.” The landlord offered no objection; but on the contrary said he would with pleasure show them where his little stock of wine was, but hoped they would pay for what they should drink, for his rent was due this two months. The archers smiled grimly at his simplicity, as they thought it; one of them laid a hand quietly but firmly on his shoulder, the other led on with the torch. They had reached the threshold when Denys cried “Halt!” “What is't?” “Here be bottles in this corner; advance thy light.” The torch-bearer went towards him. He had just taken off his scabbard and was probing the heap the landlord had just been crouched upon. “Nay, nay,” cried the landlord, “the wine is in the next cellar. There is nothing there.” “Nothing is mighty hard, then,” said Denys, and drew out something with his hand from the heap. It proved to be only a bone. Denys threw it on the floor: it rattled. “There is nought there but the bones of the house,” said the landlord. “Just now 'twas nothing. Now that we have found something 'tis nothing but bones. Here's another. Humph? look at this one, comrade; and you come too and look at it, and bring you smooth knave along.” The archer with the torch, whose name was Philippe, held the bone to the light and turned it round and round. “Well?” said Denys. “Well, if this was a field of battle, I should say 'twas the shankbone of a man; no more, no less. But 'tisn't a battlefield, nor a churchyard; 'tis an inn.”