“It has served its purpose,” he answered. “But the Highwayman of Tours has a card up his sleeve. Further down the valley of the Loire I have another even better than this.”
He tossed his head and sat down in the chair. He stared for a while at the floor deep in thought. I bethought me of my horse, for it was high time that I looked to him for the night. I went out to where I had tied him. My heart sank in my breast, for he was gone. I went over to where the two knaves had been lashed to the trees. All I found was a couple of strands of rope upon the ground.
I burst into the house hot and excited.
“They have gone!” I cried. “They have taken my horse with them!”
The scrivener never raised his head.
“I was hoping they would go,” he said calmly.
“It’s your fault, master scrivener,” I flung at him. “When you were tying them, I noticed that you didn’t draw the knots tight enough.”
“And that’s true,” he replied looking out from under his brows with a crafty smile. “But, Henri, you wouldn’t like to stand with your back against a tree for the whole night long, now, would you?”
“But my horse?” I said.
“They took that too?” he smiled.