manner of sorry men. "It will be quite simple, sir," he said.

Hubert de Burgh (for the soldierly-appearing man was he) turned upon
them fiercely. "Enough!" he exclaimed. "I don't know how men of your
breed go about a task like this, but Hubert de Burgh has always faced
the truth. Listen: When you've fetched me the hot iron you'll hide
behind the tapestry there. And when I stamp on the floor you'll come
quickly and bind him hand and foot."

The first attendant found courage to say: "Bind him? A little lad like
that? A man might do the job with one hand without half trying."

But Hubert de Burgh gazed at the man darkly. "Look you, fellow," he
said, "there are forces besides a man's hands which are powerful. His
very helplessness and innocence . . . I think they shall paralyze my
hands and make me helpless. Do as I say: bind the boy and stand near,
ready to lend a hand."

Whereupon the first and second attendants withdrew, staring as if with
terror at the unopened door near which they had to pass.

Hubert de Burgh took no further notice of them, but dropped into a
chair and stared straight before him.

At this point Mr. Literal began rubbing his hands and smiling with
pleased excitement. "It seems," he remarked to the Masked Lady, "that
we're to be in on a really famous event--the slaying of Prince Arthur.
It's a great opportunity of its kind. It will give me a chance to
confute the historians who have quarreled among themselves about how
the poor boy met his death. How--er--how should you say he dies?"