imeon, whilst my lord of
Hereford watched furtively from the city walls. The chief of the
approaching host rode forward, and his stern, dark face was plain to
see.

"'Tis the King!" cried Carfax, who knew Richard well. "Now may our
tongues be politic and say the right words."

"Go to meet him, Simeon," whispered the Sheriff, all in a flutter of
fear and hope. "'Tis like that he hath encountered Sir Richard of the
Lee, and so will know his story of things. Be prudent, be humble."

But Richard waved Carfax haughtily aside. "I will speak with your
master, fellow," he said, harshly. Carfax shrank cringingly to one side,
and Monceux dismounted from his milk-white horse to meet his King.

"Greetings and welcome, sire, from this your faithful city," began
Monceux, very hurriedly. "The joyful tidings of your return were brought
to me two days agone, and at once I did prepare for your coming."

"With a-hanging to wit, and murderous attack upon the castle of this
faithful knight," said Richard. "A welcome not much to our mind,
Sheriff."

"Sire, when the hanging was going forward I did not then know you were
so near," explained Monceux, making matters worse. "And, for the matter
of that, 'twas for foul murder that I would have hanged the villain, who
did escape through your knight's evil practices. Thereby I do accuse Sir
Richard of offending against the laws."

"Enough, Master Monceux," interrupted the King, contemptuously. "The
murder was not done by the man whose life you did seek so earnestly to
end. The killing of Fitzwalter, my warden of these gates, was due to the
foul hands of your own cook, Roger de Burgh. As you have stomach for a
hanging, see to it that this fellow be brought to book. Know you this
writing?"

And Richard showed him the parchment which Will Scarlett had found in
the hearth of the hall at Nottingham Castle.

Monceux turned green and white, and gasped for air. "I had no hand in
this dreadful business, sire, I swear it," he gurgled. "We did conspire
between us to entice the maid Fitzwalter into Nottingham, I confess,
hoping that Robin Hood, the outlaw, would come to visit her, and we
might so trap him. He hath been the author of this mischief, I promise
you, and is a villainous wretch. If Roger killed Master Fitzwalter,
'twas done in the belief that he was engaged with Hood."

"As I thought," muttered the new Earl of Nottingham, under his breath.

"Therefore," said Richard, slowly, "you, Monceu