"Aye—that can I," replied the monk cheerfully. "An you but set it to the nostrils thrice in the day 'twill sleep a man safely the week through."
"Then do thou have it ready betwixt this hour and midnight. De Claverlok, do thou, with all dispatch, ride to our nearest encampment. Bring back with thee a dozen mounted men and a covered litter. Whilst awaiting Sir Lionel's speedy return, we will give our time to the further discussion of plans and expedients."
By now the storm had abated. The wind, no longer a shrieking tornado, had died away to a plaintive sighing about the eaves. The rain had entirely ceased, and in the dead solitude of the night the hoofbeats of de Claverlok's charger, as he galloped away upon his errand, were plainly audible to those within the tavern; to all saving Sir Richard, who, still sleeping beside the fire, was all unconscious of an eye, a patient, gleaming, malevolent eye, which remained fixed upon the interior through a narrow window set high in the eastern wall of the room.
[CHAPTER IV]
THE INCIDENT OF THE WOLF-HOUND
The eye at the window was the hunchback's, who was perched upon the top of a boulder, which he had rolled to the side of the building for the purpose of enabling him to see within. His attitude was as that of a spider awaiting its victim, and betrayed his anticipation of a pleasurable event to come. If Sir James could have witnessed his brother's unaccountable demeanor, he would doubtless have been convinced of the truth of a rumor that was commonly traded among his men to the effect that Zenas was of unsound mind, and a menace to his ambitious plans.
The tottering of Zenas's reason was directly due to the circumstance of his having been Sir James's intimate confederate in one of the most brilliant and daring conspiracies in a time when conspiracies were among the chief products of England's soil. The plot in question had been conceived in Tyrrell's brain at the time when he had been commissioned by Richard III to make away with his two nephews in the room in which they were then imprisoned in the Tower; and involved the secret transportation of the young princes to a place of safety till such time as a sufficiently armed force could be gathered to set the older of the two upon the throne. That one of the boy dukes was actually murdered and only one so transported, Sir James attributed to the egregious blunder or willful defection of one Dighton, his groom, who was bribed handsomely by Tyrrell to assist him in his gigantic enterprise. Dighton had suffered a summary death as the penalty of his fault. Zenas, garbed in the habit of a Sister of the Faith, had received into his charge in one of the by-ways of London a fair-haired young girl, who was the escaped prince in disguise. Together they had traveled from hamlet to hamlet till they had come to the haven of refuge prepared for them in Scotland. From whence he had been so indiscreet as to return to England and hint, while in his cups, of the incubation of a vast uprising in the North, in consequence of which he had been seized, thrown into the torture chamber, and released only after he had been blinded in one eye and reduced to a repulsive caricature of his former self. While he had incurred Sir James's stern displeasure because of his indiscretion, he had also won his highest regard and confidence because of his stubborn refusal to divulge a single secret through the whole of his agonized sufferings.
Now, as Zenas patiently maintained his post upon the top of the boulder, he kept up an almost incessant mumbling. "I'll keep guard over him," he was saying. "Aye—I'll see that no harm comes to our honorable guest!" whereupon he would smile craftily and press his face more closely to the window. "They know not—ha, ha! not one of them hath divined that it was I—I, Zenas, the detestable hunchback, who put the quietus to the young prince. Slow poison—that's the thing. Slow poison! I'll teach them to steal from me the affections of my beloved and noble brother. Zenas, the crookback, will teach them! Slow poison put an end to the last, and now 'twill be Demon's turn to finish this one. At him, good Demon! At him, sir!" he concluded, with a sibilant hiss that penetrated every corner of the interior of the room.
It was just at this moment that Sir Richard awakened with a sudden and violent start. During the interval of several seconds he remained in a sort of drowsy stupor, with his gaze fixed upon the curling flames. Doubtless from that instinct that gives warning of impending peril, he set his first sentient glance upon the forbidding beast lying before him upon the hearth. The hound's red eyeballs were glaring straight into his own. In the dim firelight he could see that its hair was bristling over its entire savage body, and that slowly and with deadly menace the brute was gathering its huge paws beneath it and assuming a crouching posture. Feeling certain that the slightest perceptible movement upon his part would precipitate the threatened spring, the young knight's fingers, under cover of the table, crept warily toward his sword-hilt. Distinctly he could hear the tap—tap—tapping of the raindrops as they splashed upon the ground from off the eaves. What, with the deathlike quiet, the red eyeballs and gleaming fangs of the hound, and the uncanniness of it all, it is a matter of wonderment that Sir Richard maintained his faculties to the degree that he did.