David Douglas caught his elbow on something which stood a few inches out of the oaken panelling of the turnpike wall. He tried to pull it out. It was the steel quarrel of a cross-bow wedged firmly into the wood and masonry. He cried: "Whence came this? Have you been murdering any other honest men?"
The archer stood silent, glancing this way and that like a sentinel on duty. The two young men went on up the stair.
As their feet were approaching the sixth step, a sudden word came from the Penman like a bolt from his bow.
"Halt!" he cried, and they heard the gur-r-r-r of his steel ratchet.
Sholto smiled, for he knew the nature of the man.
"It is I, your captain," he said. "You have done your duty well, Andro the Penman. Now get down to your dinner. But first give an account of your adventures."
"Do you relieve us from our charge?" said the archer, with his bow still at the ready.
"Certainly," quoth Sholto.
"Come, Jock, we are eased," cried Andro the Swarthy up the stair, and he slid the steel bolt out of its grip with a little click; "faith, my belly is toom as a last year's beef barrel."
"Did any come hither to vex you?" asked Sholto.