While thus feverishly engaged he shouted at the top of his voice for the guard upon the tower to lower the drawbridge across the wide moat. Covered with scarlet-flecked foam, de Claverlok's horse came thundering upon him up the hill. With the grizzled knight scarce above two lance-haft's lengths behind him, and wildly calling upon him to wait, that death lay in the King's warrant, Sir Richard vaulted into his saddle and made for the castle gate. When he had laid something near half of the remaining distance behind him he heard the clear blast of a bugle go singing across the down. Without in the least diminishing his speed, he turned in time to see a band of armored horsemen flashing out of the pine forest to the eastward. Riding in the van he was certain that he recognized the livid-scarred face of the traveler in the monk's robe. If the bridge were now but lowered it would be impossible for them to cut Sir Richard off. Would it fall for him? Now he had reached to within easy flight of an arrow from the massively buttressed gray walls; and as yet he could discern no sign of movement among the thick ropes, wheels, and pulleys sustaining it. There appeared no hint of life along the face of the great pile. At the very moment when he was about to wheel to the westward, in the faint hope of eluding his pursuers through a continued flight, there sounded a creaking of wheels, and the heavy structure began slowly to move earthward. De Claverlok's lance, hilt-foremost, went hurtling past the young knight's shoulder. Distinctly he heard the dull splash of it as it struck the black waters of the moat, far below. At every stride the slope was growing steeper, and it seemed to Sir Richard's straining eyes that the bridge, with its underwork of mossy beams and rusted iron trusses, was hanging in mid air directly above his head. So closely had its fall been timed, however, that there was no margin left to the young knight upon the side of safety. He was forced to put his mount to the leap to gain the top of it. "God wot there be death here for the twain of us!" Sir Richard heard de Claverlok shout as he, too, took the perilous leap but an instant behind him. Through the yawning maw of the arched sallyport they shot together, and the heavy portcullis, like iron teeth snapping down after gulping their prey, crashed upon the flagging at their backs. CHAPTER XII OF THE DELIVERY OF THE KING'S WARRANT