town just before the gates were closed. They had walked some miles
when a thunderstorm, which had for some time been threatening,
broke over them.

"We must get some shelter if we can," Hector said. "I see a light
on ahead. Let us push on and take refuge before we are wet to the
skin."

On reaching the house they saw that it was a wayside inn.

"We are in luck, Paolo," Hector said as he lifted the latch.

The door, however, was fastened, and on his knocking a voice asked,
"Who is there at this time of night?"

"Travellers," Hector replied. "Come, open the door quickly or we
shall be wet to the skin!" and he emphasized his words by kicking
at the door. It was, however, a minute or two before it was opened,
and Hector, who was becoming furious at this delay, had just taken
his axe from his belt and was about to break the door in when it
opened, and a man with a torch in one hand and a sword in the other
stood on the threshold.



CHAPTER XVII: A ROBBER'S DEN



"What mean you by knocking thus furiously?" the landlord of the