“Shall I stand on guard by the door, sir, till you have dined?” said Denis.
“No, boy. Eat your soup and what else comes. We shall all three fight the better for a meal.”
Chapter Nine.
The scent of danger.
It was hard to imagine that there was danger in the air, for in that comfortably furnished panelled room everything was suggestive of plenty and peace, and, noticing as he went on with his meal how impressed his two followers seemed to be, the King paused, spoon in hand, and cried with a laugh:
“Come, boys, where are your appetites? Are we to be scared with a scrap of paper, a Latin exercise, perhaps, written by our hostess’s son?”
As he spoke there was a faint rasping sound as of wood passing over wood, making Denis turn sharply and put out his hand towards his sword, for it seemed to him that there was a tremulous motion in one of the panels of the wall behind where the King was seated.
“What’s that?” cried the latter sharply, as with a bound the lad sprang past him to stand between him and the side of the room.