Not one of us stirred. The cock crowed again. The sound of it sent my nerves quivering. Then the scrivener spoke again in a voice that was quiet but determined.
“I want you to search the lad there,” he said. “He has a knife in his jacket that can do much harm—or good. Take it away from him. If you have a grain of sense you will understand.”
I felt myself jump in my bonds. On the impulse I wanted to resist. I wanted to throw myself on the scrivener and denounce him for a traitor and a coward. My second thoughts were calmer. I was as good as done for as I was. Was there a hidden understanding between him and the landlord that had a meaning of its own?
Before I could think further the landlord had his hand under my doublet. The dagger which I was to carry to the Abbot of Chalonnes was torn from me with no further ado. For one second he held it under the rays of the lanthorn. The light, dull as it was, shone like a clear stream along the silver haft. In spite of himself he gave a start and looked searchingly from the one of us to the other. Then without a word he shuffled slowly away and disappeared behind the door.
I nudged the scrivener in the ribs. I wanted some kind of explanation to be sure. But all I got was a yawn and a reply that came like a rebuke.
“Go to sleep!”
The scrivener curled up on his side as well as he could. Whether he was feigning or not I cannot tell but before a quarter of an hour had passed he was snoring as loudly as the guard. I was wide awake, alert, for I expected the landlord to return. I felt that something would happen. A half hour passed. A dullness came into my eyes. The thoughts of what had occurred during the day revolved themselves in my mind. A dread of the morning took hold of me, for I realized that the chances were that I was to die. Then a weariness seized me. My head drooped to one side. All kinds of fanciful images started chasing one another in my brain. After that, sheer exhaustion laid a hand on me and with my nose against the scrivener’s shoulder I, too, fell into a slumber.
It was a fitful sleep at best. The dreams that tumbled around in my mind must have made me cry out. I awoke trembling with the sound of my voice still echoing in the air. I started up. To my amazement my bonds no longer held me. I swung my arms to make sure that I was not dreaming and even pinched my leg.
Then I looked about. The lanthorn was still there, lit, burning as it had during the entire night. The guard was as quiet as a mouse with his head down between his arms. I turned my head. No sign of the scrivener could I see. Then it flashed upon me that something had happened while I slumbered and I rose startled to my feet.
It was as if I had been suddenly dropped from the clouds. I wanted to run for it as fast as I could to the door and make my escape while it was possible. With long stealthy steps I made to pass the guard. My eyes were fastened on him with dread and fear. If he should awake I would be even worse off than before.