Another twig snapped.
“Who goes there?” he called.
“A friend.”
“Give the countersign.”
“Groton,” said the voice.
“Wrong,” said the lad. “Follow the window, but keep at a distance, for you are my prisoner.”
It lightened. The lad saw the man, and that he was no ordinary traveler.
The lad moved back. The traveler followed, and presently said:
“Hello! where am I?”
“A prisoner; follow me.”