“Conscious innocence,” laughed he. “Nevertheless, we had better run for it.”
And, with our fellow loiterers, we began ignominiously to run away. But before we had run far we were stopped by the voice of an officer.
“Halt! Halt! Halt, or we fire!”
As one man we halted. The officer rode up to us, and, with true military taciturnity, vouchsafed not a word either in question or explanation, but formed us in ranks of four abreast, and surrounded us with his men. Then he gave the command to march. We were, perhaps, two dozen captives, all told, and a good quarter of our number were women.
“What are we in for now?” I wondered aloud.
“Disgrace, decapitation, deprivation of civil rights, or, say, a night in the Castle of St. Michael, at the very least,” replied my friend, shrugging his shoulders.
“Ah, that will be romantic,” said I, feeling like one launched upon a life of adventure.
II
He was right We were marched across the town and into the courtyard of the Castle of St Michael. By the time we got there, and the heavy oaken gates were shut behind us, it was nearly dark.
“Here you pass the night,” announced our officer. “In the morning—humph, we will see.”