Sir Valentine exchanged looks with the physician and Anthony, then glanced toward the wall of the chamber, and answered:
"There is a space 'twixt yon panelling and the outer woodwork of the house. It hath air through hidden openings to the cracked plaster without; and is close to the chimney, for warmth. In a hasty search it would be passed over,—there is good proof of that. But this pursuivant, not finding me, would sound every foot of wall in the house. He would, eventually, detect the hollowness of the panelling there, and the looseness of the boards that hide the entrance. Or, if he did not that, he and his men would rouse the county, and occupy the house in expectation of my secret return; they would learn of my quarrel and wound, and would know I must be hid somewhere near. While they remained in the house, searching the neighborhood with sheriff's and magistrate's men, keeping watch on every one, how should I be supplied and cared for in that hole? It would soon become, not my hiding-place, but my grave,—for which 'tis truly of the right dimensions!"
"But if, not finding you in the first search, they should suppose you gone elsewhere?" said Hal, for sheer need of offering some hope, however wild.
"Why, they would still make the house the centre of their search, as I said."
"But if they were made to believe you had fled afar?"
"They would soon learn of my wound. It hath been bruited about the neighborhood. They would know it made far flight impossible."
"But can they learn how bad thy wound is? Might it not be a harmless scratch?"
"It might, for all the neighborhood knoweth of it," put in Anthony; and the physician nodded.
"Then, if they had reason to think you far fled?" pursued Hal.