"My men will not fire again until I give the word."
"Very well, then: what do you require of us?"
"I require you to give up to me, and instantly, the prisoner whom we took last night. This done, I may consent to overlook your escapade."
"For what purpose do you want him?"
"That, Sir, is my affair, I should hope. 'Tis enough that I require his surrender."
"Indeed no, Sir: 'tis nothing like enough. The gentleman you speak of happens to be a friend of mine; and you have formed an opinion of him as incorrect as it is injurious. If I consent to release him to you it will only be on your engaging yourself most solemnly to do him no harm."
'Tis wonderful what an advantage height gives a man in an argument. The Provost-Marshal, dancing with rage on the floor far below and cricking back his neck to get sight of me, cut one of the absurdest figures in the world.
"I'll hang you all!" he threatened, lifting and shaking his fist. "I'll hang every mother's son of you!"
But here I felt a hand laid on my shoulder, and looked up to see Trecarrel standing over me and smiling, and the belfry full of a sudden with rosy morning light.
"Wyvern," said he, "don't be keeping all the fun to yourself! Let me have a turn with the man, and go you to the window—the north-east window yonder, and tell me an I speak not the truth to him."