"Suppose they set the house afire?" I asked.
He took me by the arm and led me to the part of the cave that was hidden under the stairs. Here it was gloomiest and very dark. The rays from the candle flickered as though they were sucked by a slight current of air. But where I expected to find a wall there was no wall at all, only a great hole large enough for a man to enter by stooping a little. It was of jagged rock on all sides, as canny a place as I had ever seen.
"Let them fire the house," he declared. "There is the way to freedom and the open air. It is fifty roods long. The other end leads out among rocks and the roots of ancient trees. You'd never find it in a week's search not even if I showed it to you beforehand."
He put the clothing and the bow and arrows back as he had found them and we went again up the stairs.
"Why have you shown me this hiding place of yours, master scrivener?" I inquired. "Aren't you afraid lest some day I betray you?"
"It's known already," he said. "I'll have to abandon it. Those two knaves outside will spread the news to all the world."
"It has served its purpose," he answered. "But the Highwayman of Tours has a card up his sleeve. Further down the valley of the Loire I have another even better than this."
He tossed his head and sat down in the chair. He stared for a while at the floor deep in thought. I bethought me of my horse, for it was high time that I looked to him for the night. I went out to where I had tied him. My heart sank in my breast, for he was gone. I went over to where the two knaves had been lashed to the trees. All I found was a couple of strands of rope upon the ground.
"They have gone!" I cried. "They have taken my horse with them!"
"I was hoping they would go," he said calmly.
"It's your fault, master scrivener," I flung at him. "When you were tying them, I noticed that you didn't draw the knots tight enough."
"And that's true," he replied looking out from under his brows with a crafty smile. "But, Henri, you wouldn't like to stand with your back against a tree for the whole night long, now, would you?"
"Well, well. It's a great loss, indeed," he replied. "A great loss." He rose and yawned. Then he stretched himself. "There's another way to look at it, Henri. What do you care about the horse when you have me?"