“It was I who gave you that blow,” he said, with a cruel smile, pointing with his thin finger at the sheriff's forehead. It was false.
“You devil!” cried the sheriff, “and you have killed the man who saved your brother's life, and consorted with one of two who would have been his murderers.”
“I was myself the second,” said the man, with fiendish calmness. It was the truth. “I carry the proof of it here,” he added, touching a place at the back of his head where the hair, being shorn away, disclosed a deep mark.
The sheriff staggered back with frenzied eyes and dilated nostrils. His breast heaved; he seemed unable to catch his breath.
The man looked at him with a mocking smile struggling over clinched teeth. As if a reptile had crossed his path, Wilfrey Lawson turned about and passed out without another word.
He returned to the castle and ascended the Donjon tower.
“Tell me how you became possessed of the warrant,” he said. “Tell me, I beg of you, for my soul's sake as well as for your life's sake.”
Ralph shook his head.
“It is not even yet too late. I shall take horse instantly for Newcastle.”
Sim had crept up, and, standing behind Ralph, was plucking at his jerkin.