Presently Nigel could hear the distant thud of his feet. If he
bore a lantern all was lost. But no gleam of light appeared in
the black tunnel, and still the footsteps drew nearer.
Nigel breathed a prayer of thanks to all his guardian saints as he
crouched close to the slimy wall and waited breathless, his dagger
in his hand. Nearer yet and nearer came the steps. He could hear
the stranger's coarse breathing in the darkness. Then as he
brushed past Nigel bounded upon him with a tiger spring. There
was one gasp of astonishment, and not a sound more, for the
Squire's grip was on the man's throat and his body was pinned
motionless against the wall.
"Simon! Simon!" cried Nigel loudly.
The mantle was moved from the hole.
"Have you a cord? Or your belts linked together may serve."
One of the peasants had a rope, and Nigel soon felt it dangling
against his hand. He listened and there was no sound in the
passage. For an instant he released his captive's throat. A
torrent of prayers and entreaties came forth. The man was shaking
like a leaf in the wind. Nigel pressed the point of his dagger
against his face and dared him to open his lips. Then he slipped
the rope beneath his arms and tied it.
"Pull him up!" he whispered, and for an instant the gray glimmer
above him was obscured.
"We have him, fair sir," said Simon.
"Then drop me the rope and hold it fast.
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