[CHAPTER III]
OF A NIGHT IN THE RED TAVERN
As Sir Richard glanced above the jutting cornice he noted that the clouds had turned to a murky green. Ragged tentacles were trailing ominously earthward as the storm raged down upon the sea. Appreciating the need of immediate shelter, and having as yet heard no answering sounds from within, he sent another fusillade of blows against the door.
Almost upon the instant there followed a loud clanking of iron chains and bolts. Then, as the door swung slowly inward, there stood revealed within the open space a singularly odd and striking figure of a man. So extraordinarily tall was he that he was obliged to stoop to make way for his head beneath the lintel as he set his foot upon the step. He vouchsafed no word of welcome or good cheer, but stood silent, waiting for the traveler to speak.
With his sparse hair streaming in the augmenting wind, his keen eyes burning within the shadow of a thicket of brows; his veritable beak of a nose—vying with that of the crudely painted vulture above his head—and his thin, bloodless lips, he appealed to the young knight like anything but a picture of a hospitable inn-keeper. It being habitual to associate with these highway entertainers a certain rotundity of figure and jollity of demeanor. The one confronting Sir Richard was attenuated to the last degree, though in despite of this the breadth of his wrist, and the clutch of his bony fingers upon the latch, betrayed his possession of a more than usual measure of physical strength.
"Hast thou peace and provender for a wayfaring knight and horse?" our astonished pilgrim made out to inquire.
Even then the landlord did not trouble himself to speak. Bowing assent, however, he signed Sir Richard to dismount and enter. As he complied, another man, with features very much resembling the first, but whose figure was grossly misshapen, squat, hunchbacked, and long-armed, emerged from the obscurity of the room and led away his horse. This move was not accomplished without a considerable effort upon the hunchback's part, for the spirited animal pricked up its ears, champed its bit, and hung back on the bridle at sight of the apparition tugging at the other end.
It was not without an inward sense of fear that the young knight moved toward the glowing blaze, after he had seen his horse safely led, though stubbornly contesting every inch of the way, around the corner of the building. As he approached the chimney-side, a huge wolfhound lying upon the hearth half rose upon its haunches.
In the bright light of the fire Sir Richard could see the stiff, wiry gray hairs elevating along its spine, and the gleaming of white fangs as it curled its lips from off them and emitted a savage growl.
"Crouch, Demon!" commanded the inn-keeper in a voice which, though low, seemed by far more menacing than the savage grumble of the beast.
The hound instantly obeyed, resuming its recumbent attitude and regarding the intruder furtively the while out of the tail of its yellow eyes.