"You will do nothing of the kind," said Wogan. "He shall get back into
his cupboard and there he shall remain till daybreak. Come, get up!"

Wogan's self-appointed valet got to his feet. There was no possibility
of an escape for him since there were three men between him and the
door. On the other hand, obedience to Wogan might save him from a charge
of attempted theft.

"In with you," said Wogan, and the man obeyed. His head no doubt was
still spinning from the blow, and he had the stupid look of one dazed.

"There is no lock to the door," said the landlord.

"There is no need of a lock," said Wogan, "so long as one has a chair.
The fellow will do very well till the morning. But I will take your
three candles, for it is not likely that I shall sleep."

Wogan smoked his pipe all the rest of the night, reclining on a couple
of chairs in front of the cupboard. In the morning he made his valet
walk three miles by his horse's side. The man dared not disobey, and
when Wogan finally let him go he was so far from the town that, had he
confederates there, he could do no harm.

Wogan continued his journey. Towns, it was proved, were no safer to him
than villages. He began to wonder how it was that no traps had been laid
for him on the earlier stages of his journey, and he suddenly hit upon
the explanation. "It was that night," said he to himself, "when the
Prince sat by the Countess with the list of my friends in his hands. The
names were all erased but three, and against those three was that other