t dare," he said; "and were I the abductor himself."

De Lacy faced toward the door.

"What ho! Without!" he called.

A score of men-at-arms burst into the room with drawn swords. The
monks set up a fresh cry of terror and fell to chanting prayers, and
Father Alfred and the Chancellor sought refuge in the shadow with the
Prior. But the Abbot never stirred in his seat, save to shift his gaze
to the fresh disturbers of his authority.

At a sign from De Lacy, the soldiers sheathed their weapons and fell
into double rank near the door, while Raynor Royk advanced to the dais
and saluted. Then the Knight turned again to the Abbot.

"We shall search this Abbey from loft to cellar,"' he said. "If the
Countess be not here and you still remain obdurate, then shall you
stretch halter, an you were the Pope of Rome himself. . . Raynor, we
commit these good fathers to your custody. Let none quit the room--if
need be, cut down any who attempt it."

All this time Sir John de Bury was leaning on his long sword, his cold
grey eyes fixed on the Abbot. Now he faced about and, silent still,
tramped out of the Chapter-house beside De Lacy. And with them went
half of the men-at-arms.

XXIII

THREE CHEVRONS GULES

When the Knights had gone Raynor Royk, having posted guards at the
three doors, turned the broken chair over with his foot and sitting
down on one of the fragments so that he could observe the entire room,
fell to polishing his dagger.

The Abbot watched him furtively for a space, then arose.

"Are you of De Lacy's or De Bury's household?" he asked with
condescending friendliness.

No answer.

"You hear? I asked if De Bury or De Lacy were your master."

No answer; and the polishing went vigorously on.

"Are you deaf?" the monk exclaimed angrily, and prod the old retainer
with his foot.

The next moment the air was full of flying arms and legs and sandals
and fluttering robes; and when it cleared Aldam was lying in a heap on
the floor--and Raynor Royk was working on his dagger, as placidly as
though it were a common enough act with him to seize the foot of a
mitred Abbot and whirl him backward to the earth.

And the look of mingled fury and pain on the monk's face when, shaking
off the assisting hands of the Prior and the Chancellor, he struggled
to his feet, would have made a less hardened soldier feel a bit uneasy
as to the fate of his soul. But without so much as a glance at the
furious churc