ithout delay, and the knight rode through the gateway and
disappeared from view.

Mallory frowned in the darkness. Something about the incident had
failed to jibe. He thought back, but he could isolate nothing that, in
retrospect anyway, seemed in the least incongruous. He tried again,
with the same result, and at length he concluded that the note of
discord had originated in his imagination.

Again, he settled back to wait. He wasn't particularly worried about
the outcome of the forthcoming encounter--the superiority of the
weapons and armor should be more than enough to see him through--but
just the same he wished there was some way to avoid it. There wasn't,
of course. Sir Launcelot's theft of the Sangraal was already
incorporated in fact, and, as a _fait accompli_, could not be obviated
by a previous theft. All Mallory could do was to make his move after
the _fait acccompli_ in the hope that that was when he _had_ made his
move. A time-thief didn't have nearly as much leeway as his seeming
freedom of movement might lead the uninitiated to believe. About all
he could do was to play along with destiny and await his
opportunities. If destiny smiled, he succeeded; if destiny frowned, he
did not. However, Mallory was optimistic about his forthcoming bid for
the Grail, for if it wasn't in the books for him to wrest the Cup from
Sir Launcelot, the chances were he wouldn't have gotten as far as he
had.

He estimated that it would take the man five minutes to enter the
castle, proceed to the chamber, seize the Sangraal, return to the
courtyard and come riding back to the portcullis. Seven minutes proved
to be nearer the mark. In response to a hail from within the wall,
several of the warders bent to the windlass, whereupon the portcullis
scraped and groaned aloft, and the tall knight came riding out just as
the hands of Mallory's timepiece registered 7:43 p.m.

Mallory let him pass, straining his eyes in vain for a glimpse of the
Sangraal. He waited till Sir Launcelot was half a hundred yards down
the highway before he encephalopathed Easy Money to follow, and he
waited till a bend in the road hid the castle of Carbonek from view
before encephalopathing the command to charge. At this point, Sir
Launcelot became aware that he was no longer alone, and wheeled his
steed around. Without an instant's hesitation, he dressed his spear
and launched a counter-charge. All Mallory could think of was a
twentieth-century steam locom