I was sure the leader was mistaken for in the next instant there came only three clicks against the surface of the table. But I held my own counsel and looked on while the archers, one at each opening, raised their bows and watched for a mark among the men in the woods across the road.
They shot at the same time. The arrows had scarcely left the bows when another yell louder than the first came over to us.
The leader lowered his bow in disgust.
“He got back too quickly,” he said. “Our only hope is to wait.”
There was another lull. For a long time we stood with our hearts thumping hard against our ribs. I listened for footsteps outside the kitchen door, but the whole place, even the road and the tree opposite were as silent as an empty church.
Then came a single arrow. It was not shot in a line but in a slow arching curve. It passed through the opening and landed sticking in the wood in the floor. Around the haft was tied a piece of white cloth.
I jumped towards it and raised it in my hand.
“A signal!” I cried.
The leader flashed his eyes on me.
“It’s a trick,” he answered. “Back! And watch your door!”