“No, no!” one of the others exclaimed. “They would only drag you out, and when they saw that there was naught the matter with you, would suspect that there must be some reason why you did not want to go, when, as every one knows, the position of the servitors is in every way preferable to ours.”
“Now then, why are you delaying?” a voice said sharply, and a warder entered with a lighted torch. “Get up, you lazy hound! It will be worse for you if I have to speak again.”
“I am coming,” Gervaise grumbled. “I was just asleep.”
He rose, as if reluctantly, and went forward. The warder gave him an angry push, followed him out, and locked and barred the door after him.
“I suppose this is the right man?” Sir John Boswell said.
“This is Number 36, Sir Knight, the same who was taken over to your auberge the other day,” and he held the light close to Gervaise's face.
“Yes, that is the man. Follow me,” he added, in Turkish. The gate of the courtyard was unbarred, and they passed out unquestioned. Sir John strolled on ahead. Gervaise followed him a pace or two behind. Not until they had passed through the gate of the castle did Sir John turn.
“I have not spoken to you,” he said, “as we may have been watched. Keep your news until we reach the auberge.”
Upon entering it they went up at once to Sir John Kendall's apartments.
“Well, Sir Gervaise, the strip of cotton was brought to us safely. What is your news?”