There were hurried sounds behind the closed doors; a servant of the inn came toiling up the stairs.
"Sir," said he. "You'll have the house aroused. What is the matter?"
"Get me the landlord," directed Anthony. "Tell him not to delay. I have a sharp word or two for that good man."
"The landlord is still abed," said the servant.
Anthony took him by the scruff of the neck and held his face against the glass of the window.
"Who do you see in the yard?" demanded he.
It was the landlord himself, and hastily leading out a team of swift-looking horses, attached to a sleigh. At the same time a man was seen to cross the yard from the direction of the tavern door; it was the man with the patch over one eye, and he took the reins and stepped into the sleigh. Anthony tore at the window to open it, but it was fast; with the pistol butt he smashed the glass, and while it was still crashing and jingling he shouted.
"Stop! I'd like a moment with you, sir!"
The man in the sleigh gave one upward look, then wheeled his horses to face the road. Anthony leveled the pistol and fired; the heavy ball smashed through the back of the sleigh; there were cries from all parts of the inn; then, seizing the remainder of his belongings, Anthony ran down the stairs.
At the outer door he met the landlord, thick-set, swift, with bright dangerous eyes; and the man held out a hand to stop him.