waying in his chair, he sought to assume an air of defiance.

Joseph laughed in a fashion that made Kenneth's blood run cold.

"Why, no, I don't deny it. It was in fair fight he fell. Moreover, he
brought the duel upon himself."

Crispin spoke no word in answer, but rose unsteadily to his feet, so
unsteadily that his chair was overset and fell with a crash behind him.
For a moment he surveyed it with a drunken leer, then went lurching
across the hall towards the door that led to the servants' quarters.
The three men sat on, watching his antics in contempt, curiosity, and
amusement. They saw him gain the heavy oaken door and close it. They
heard the bolts rasp as he shot them home, and the lock click; and they
saw him withdraw the key and slip it into his pocket.

The cold smile still played round Joseph's lips as Crispin turned to
face them again, and on Joseph's lips did that same smile freeze as he
saw him standing there, erect and firm, his drunkenness all vanished,
and his eyes keen and fierce; as he heard the ring of his metallic
voice:

"You lie, Joseph Ashburn. It was no fair fight. It was no duel. It was
a foul, murderous stroke you dealt him in the back, thinking to butcher
him as you butchered his wife and his babe. But there is a God, Master
Ashburn," he went on in an ever-swelling voice, "and I lived. Like a
salamander I came through the flames in which you sought to destroy all
trace of your vile deed. I lived, and I, Crispin Galliard, the debauched
Tavern Knight that was once Roland Marleigh, am here to demand a
reckoning."

The very incarnation was he then of an avenger, as he stood towering
before them, his grim face livid with the passion into which he had
lashed himself as he spoke, his blazing eyes watching them in that
cunning, half-closed way that was his when his mood was dangerous.
And yet the only one that quailed was Kenneth, his ally, upon whom
comprehension burst with stunning swiftness.

Joseph recovered quickly from the surprise of Crispin's suddenly
reassumed sobriety. He understood the trick that Galliard had played
upon them so that he might cut off their retreat in the only direction
in which they might have sought assistance, and he cursed himself for
not having foreseen it. Still, anxiety he felt none; his sword was to
his hand, and Gregory was armed; at the very worst they were two calm
and able men opposed to a half-intoxicated boy, and a man whom fury, he
thought, must strip