It smelt close and dank: and the walls were encrusted here and there with what seemed cobwebs; but proved to be saltpetre that had oozed out of the damp stones, and crystallized.
"Oh! the fine mouldy smell," said Denys. "In such placen still lurks the good wine: advance thy torch. Diable! what is that in the corner? A pile of rags? No: 'tis a man."
They gathered round with the torch, and lo! a figure crouched on a heap in the corner, pale as ashes and shivering.
"Why, it is the landlord," said Denys.
"Get up, thou craven heart!" shouted one of the archers.
"Why, man, the thieves are bound, and we are dry, that bound them. Up! and show us thy wine; for no bottles see I here."
"What, be the rascals bound?" stammered the pale landlord; "good news. W—w—wine? that will I, honest sirs."
And he rose with unsure joints and offered to lead the way to the wine cellar. But Denys interposed. "You are all in the dark, comrades. He is in league with the thieves."
"Alack, good soldier, me in league with the accursed robbers! Is that reasonable?"
"The girl said so any way."