Vigorously they pushed Grain out of the house, and as unceremoniously propelled him across the yard towards the Shrubbery. Half-way there the captive caught sight of Roger Cayton, who was walking about with his hands behind his back—the Prefect's characteristic attitude. Nobody else was about, and Grain, terrified now of what was in front of him, chanced a yell.
"Hi, Cayton, stop them, please!" he bawled.
Roger's head seemed to twitch a little, but he did not turn it in their direction, nor did he move his hands from behind his back. He continued his placid walk, and, before Grain could call out again, Little John's muffler had done its work in silencing him.
Once within the Forest he knew himself to be entirely at the mercy of his captors, and ceased to throw his limbs about in wasted effort.
"Now, by my troth, thou shalt answer for much thou hast done in the past," said Robin, assuming the post of judge. "Didst thou, on the night of our entertainment, see an oil-lamp on the stage knocked over by an apple, and tongues of fire burst therefrom?"
"Carrots!" was Grain's irreverent reply.
"Thou art a right saucy varlet, sirrah! Answer me 'yea' or 'nay'. Didst see the apple thrown?"
"Fish and fiddlesticks!" snorted Grain, looking more defiant than he felt.
"Thou wilt not answer sensibly, but preferreth to play the right-down giddy goat. So be it. My Merry Men, jerk up the prisoner's head. He squinteth upon the ground as though still seeking for grub that is not his own. That's better! Now, caitiff, watch me carefully. Dost recognize this?"
With a dramatic jerk, Robin drew from his pocket the russet apple which Little John had picked up from the stage after the fire.