First
there was the host's desire to separate me from my men by suggesting
that they should sleep in the hayloft. Clearly unnecessary, when he
was not averse to turning his common room into a dormitory. There
was his very evident relief when, after announcing that I would have
them sleep one in my room and one in the passage by my door, I
consented to their spending the night below; there was the presence
of those two very ill-looking cut-throats; there was the attempt to
carry off my sword; and, lastly, there was that creaking door and
the host's note of alarm.
What was that?
I stood up suddenly. Had my fancy, dwelling upon that very incident,
tricked me into believing that a door had creaked again? I listened,
but a silence followed, broken only by a drone of voices ascending
from the common room. As I had assured the host upon the stairs,
so I now assured myself that it was the wind, the signboard of the
inn, perhaps, swaying in the storm.
And then, when I had almost dismissed my doubts, and was about to
divest myself of my remaining clothes, I saw something at which I
thanked Heaven that I had not allowed the landlord to carry off my
rapier. My eyes were on the door, and, as I gazed, I beheld the
slow raising of the latch. It was no delusion; my wits were keen
and my eyes sharp; there was no fear to make me see things that
were not. Softly I stepped to the bed-rail where I had hung my
sword by the baldrick, and as softly I unsheathed it.
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