"Who puts out the fires?"

"The territorials who police and clean up the town. Some of them live
two doors below."

The Burgundian pointed down the garden to a door opening, like our own,
on to an area below the level of the street. Suddenly, a gate opening on
a back lane swung back, and two soldiers entered, one carrying the feet
and the other the shoulders of a third. The body hung clumsily between
them like a piece of old sacking.

"Tiens--someone is wounded," said the Burgundian. "Go, thou, Badel, and
see who it is."

The dwarf plodded off obediently.

"It is Palester," he announced on his return, "the type that had the
swollen jaw last month."

"What's the matter with him?"

"He's been killed."





Chapter IV