“What now! What now!” ejaculated Henry. “What madman be this?” “I be no madman, Your Majesty. Never did brain work more clearly or to more certain ends,” replied the man. “It may doubtless be some ruse of the cut-throat himself,” cried De Montfort. “Where be the knave?” asked Henry. “He stands now within this palace and in his arms be Bertrade, daughter of My Lord Earl of Leicester. Even now she did but tell him that she loved him.” “Hold,” cried De Montfort. “Hold fast thy foul tongue. What meanest thou by uttering such lies, and to my very face?” “They be no lies, Simon de Montfort. An I tell thee that Roger de Conde and Norman of Torn be one and the same, thou wilt know that I speak no lie.” De Montfort paled. “Where be the craven wretch?” he demanded. “Come,” said the little, old man. And turning, he led from the hall, closely followed by De Montfort, the King, Prince Philip and the others. “Thou hadst better bring twenty fighting men—thou’lt need them all to take Norman of Torn,” he advised De Montfort. And so as they passed the guard room, the party was increased by twenty men-at-arms. Scarcely had Bertrade de Montfort left him ere Norman of Torn heard the tramping of many feet. They seemed approaching up the dim corridor that led to the little door of the apartment where he stood. Quickly, he moved to the opposite door and, standing with his hand upon the latch, waited. Yes, they were coming that way, many of them and quickly and, as he heard them pause without, he drew aside the arras and pushed open the door behind him; backing into the other apartment just as Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, burst into the room from the opposite side. At the same instant, a scream rang out behind Norman of Torn, and, turning, he faced a brightly lighted room in which sat Eleanor, Queen of England and another Eleanor, wife of Simon de Montfort, with their ladies. There was no hiding now, and no escape; for run he would not, even had there been where to run. Slowly, he backed away from the door toward a corner where, with his back against a wall and a table at his right, he might die as he had lived, fighting; for Norman of Torn knew that he could hope for no quarter from the men who had him cornered there like a great bear in a trap. With an army at their call, it were an easy thing to take a lone man, even though that man were the Devil of Torn. The King and De Montfort had now crossed the smaller apartment and were within the room where the outlaw stood at bay. At the far side, the group of royal and noble women stood huddled together, while behind De Montfort and the King pushed twenty gentlemen and as many men-at-arms. “What dost thou here, Norman of Torn?” cried De Montfort, angrily. “Where be my daughter, Bertrade?”