I was at my wit’s end. I was sure now that he was not only a madman but a knave as well. The longer I lingered there with him, the more dangerous seemed my situation. I set my jaws in resolution. He must have noticed the expression on my face, for he reached out and grasped the bridle firmly in his hand. At the same time he held out the weapon in the hope it would strike my fancy. “Who is the thief now, master scrivener?” I asked. “Wouldn’t you like to have it?” he questioned with another sly wink. “It’s yours for the taking—if you will only give me your horse.” At that he began tossing the dagger over his head and with much deftness catching it again in his hand. I sat watching him with anger swelling in my heart. Higher and higher the dagger went. The more difficult the catch, the easier it seemed to him. At length it rose far over his head, spinning and twirling like a leaf in the wind. Then a thought came to me. With one grasp I reached far out. By merest chance I caught the weapon by the hilt. I sank my heels into the horse’s flank. In his amazement the scrivener loosed his hold on the bridle and I was free from him. Before I was out of hearing I drew the horse to a stop. I turned and saw the scrivener standing in the middle of the road. He had his hands flat over his hips and was grinning with all his might. I held the dagger on high. “Do you see this?” I called. “I am going to keep it until I find the man to whom it belongs.” His answer sent the chills down my spine. “Fine!” he shouted. “Take it to the Abbot of Chalonnes!” CHAPTER IX A SOLITARY HOUSE IN THE WOODS The rest of that day passed pleasantly enough. To be sure, there were wayfarers whom I met. I remember most distinctly a few scattered soldiers with heavy beards who talked deep and boastingly in their throats. Then there came a barber with a satchel in his hand. He had a white curled wig on his head and a comb tucked jauntily in the side of it over his ear. No doubt he was going the rounds among his customers, the gentry of the neighborhood. By the mincing way in which he walked, the fancy lace upon his sleeves and collar, together with the display of a red waistcoat and a pair of polished silver-buckled shoes he must have thought himself equal to any doctor of Physic of the great university of Bologna.