Owen glanced at me to warn me to say nothing, and bade the men take the body to the guardroom.  They were already cursing the sentry who had brought shame on their ranks by leaguing himself with a traitor, and it was plain that there was no need to bid them lay hands on him if they could.  That was a matter that concerned their own honour.

So we left the guarding of the place in their hands, and they doubled the watches from that time forward.  Then we went and spoke with the captain of the guard, who yet kept his post at the doors, as none had called him.

“Maybe I am to blame,” he said, when he heard all.  “I should not have left a Dartmoor man from the country whence Tregoz came to keep watch there.  I knew that he was thence, and thought no harm.”

“There is no blame to you,” Owen said.  “It is not possible to look for such treachery among our own men.”

Then we went into our room to show the captain what had been done.  And thence the two arrows had already been taken.  The hole in the plaster where the first struck was yet there, and the slit made by the second in the tough hide of the bear was to be seen when I turned over the fur, but who had taken them we could not tell.  Only, it was plain that here in the palace some one was in the plot and had taken away what might be proof of who the archer had been, not knowing, as I suppose, that the attempt had failed so utterly.  For an arrow will often prove a good witness, as men will use only some special pattern that they are sure of, and will often mark them that they may claim them and their own game in the woodlands if they are found in some stricken beast that has got away for a time.  It was more than likely that Tregoz would have been careful to use only such arrows as he knew well in a matter needing such close shooting as this.  Indeed, we afterwards found men who knew the two shafts from the rampart as those of the Cornishman, without doubt.

This I did not like at all, for the going of these arrows brought the danger to our very door, as it were.  Nor did the captain, for he himself kept watch over us for the rest of that night, and afterwards there was always a sentry in the passage that led to our room.

We were silent as we lay down again, and sleep was long in coming.  I puzzled over all this, for beside the taking of the arrows there was the question of who the slayer of Tregoz might be, and who had written the letter that should have warned us.

In all truth, it was not good to sleep in the moonlight!

Somewhat of the same kind Owen was thinking, for of a sudden he said to me:  “Those arrows were meant for me, Oswald.  Did you note what the man said about my not sleeping in my wonted place?”

“Ay, but I did not know that you had slept on this side.  Since I came back, at least, you have not done so.”

Owen smiled.

“No, I have not,” he said; “but in the old days that was always my place, and you will mind that there I slept on the night we first were here together.  That was of old habit, and I only shifted to this side when you came back, because I knew that you would like the first light to wake you.  Every sentry who crosses the window on the rampart can see in here if it is light within, but he could not tell that we had changed places, for the face of the sleeper is hidden.”