Then came another lull. No doubt by this time the fellow who had escaped had gotten once more among his friends. That there was a council of war going on among them was as sure as fate. We waited a long time. There came no more arrows to crash with a click against the table nor to fly into the room. A sound far off came to our ears. It was the clatter of horses’ hoofs on the hard road. For a time we listened. Then they died off as though the riders had stopped or had entered the woods. Hope rose in our breasts that it was friends who were coming to our aid. But in a short time it died, for we were to learn that it was the enemy now with a dozen men to where they had one before. The clatter of hoofs started again irregularly as though the horses were cavorting in a circle. Then they came swiftly down the road. At each second they grew more and more distinct. At length they came into view—a whole troop of them. The chief wore a coat of shining mail and had a plume in his hat. His gauntlets flashed in the sun. Without any ado they reined in their horses before the inn. The men dismounted as one, like drilled soldiers. They formed behind their captain and walked towards us. With his fist he knocked heavily against the surface of the upright table. “Who are you?” demanded the archer. “Servants of his Majesty, the King!” came the abrupt reply. “—and what do you want?” “You have a lad there who is a spy,” was the answer. “He is to be delivered into our hands.” The archer waited a moment before he made reply. “And if we refuse?” he said. “We are not here to parley with you,” declared the captain. “If you do not deliver him forthwith, you are taking your life in your hands.” The archer was as cool as the captain. “I cannot give him up,” he said. “You will have to take him at your risk.” There was no more said. The captain stepped aside as though he would leave. He uttered a word to his men. They rushed forward. Before we could put ourselves on guard, or before one of the archers could string his bow, the table was sent flying across the room. They came in. They covered us three or four to each one of us. To have shown resistance would have been the height of folly. In less time than it takes to tell we were bound hand and foot and huddled along the wall at the far end of the room. When all was finished the captain stood before us twirling his mustache. “You almost got through,” he said to me. “Well, my lad. In another day you’ll be at the end of your wanderings for a long, long time. For when you’ll get out of the fortress of my lord De Marsac, you’ll be an old man.” With that he bade his men take us and tie us to the horses. CHAPTER XXV FRIENDS AND ENEMIES It was at the break of day when we came to the inn which we had mistaken for the Inn of The Cross-Roads. It was well after ten in the morning when we were led captives to the horses of the men who had taken us.