But ere he could so much as unfold it, a voice rang harsh and
imperative:

"Hold!"

Pausing, they turned to confront a tall, gaunt man in a leather
jerkin and a broad hat decked by goose-quill, who came slowly
forward.

"The Tavern Knight," cried one, and the shout of "A rouse for
the hero of Red Hill!" was taken up on every hand. For despite
his sour visage and ungracious ways there was not a roysterer
in the Royal army to whom he was not dear.

But as he now advanced, the coldness of his bearing and the
forbidding set of his face froze them into silence.

"Give me that letter," he demanded sternly of Tyler.

Taken aback, Tyler hesitated for a second, whilst Crispin
waited with hand outstretched. Vainly did he look round for
sign or word of help or counsel. None was afforded him by his
fellow-revellers, who one and all hung back in silence.

Seeing himself thus unsupported, and far from wishing to try
conclusions with Galliard, Tyler with an ill grace surrendered
the paper; and, with a pleasant bow and a word of thanks,
delivered with never so slight a saturnine smile, Crispin
turned on his heel and left the tavern as abruptly as he had
entered it.