I was stunned from the force of the fall. I got slowly up on one elbow and looked dazedly around. The fire was dancing as though it mocked me. I laid my hand on my hip where it hurt me most. My fingers fumbled aimlessly somehow or other around my pocket. I was so stupefied that I was hardly conscious of what I was doing. My thumb and forefinger touched the bit of parchment which the King of the Birds had given me. I drew it out. By good fortune my assailants were at my back. I unfolded it more by habit than by purpose. When it lay open before the light of the blazing wood I was amazed to read a warning that had come altogether too late:
“Avoid the house in the woods!”
With nervous fingers I put the parchment back again. The one fellow who had faced me first came over and jerked me roughly to my feet. Then, as though I were a log, shoved me back until I fell into the chair.
“Where did you get that dagger?” he demanded. He had picked the weapon from the floor and had thrown it on the table.
“I took it from a man on the road,” said I.
“Was it a short fellow—a churchman—dressed like an Abbot?” he asked further.
I was loath to give these rascals more information than was good for them so my answer was as short as I could make it.
“I don’t know whether he was an Abbot or not,” I said. “I couldn’t tell.”
They looked at each other in alarm.
“If he’s in the neighborhood,” said the first, “we’d better get out.”