out. It was the steel quarrel of a cross-bow wedged firmly into the
wood and masonry. He cried: "Whence came this? Have you been murdering
any other honest men?"

The archer stood silent, glancing this way and that like a sentinel on
duty. The two young men went on up the stair.

As their feet were approaching the sixth step, a sudden word came from
the Penman like a bolt from his bow.

"Halt!" he cried, and they heard the _gur-r-r-r_ of his steel ratchet.

Sholto smiled, for he knew the nature of the man.

"It is I, your captain," he said. "You have done your duty well, Andro
the Penman. Now get down to your dinner. But first give an account of
your adventures."

"Do you relieve us from our charge?" said the archer, with his bow
still at the ready.

"Certainly," quoth Sholto.

"Come, Jock, we are eased," cried Andro the Swarthy up the stair, and
he slid the steel bolt out of its grip with a little click; "faith, my
belly is toom as a last year's beef barrel."

"Did any come hither to vex you?" asked Sholto.

"Not to speak of," said the archer; "there were, indeed, two varlets