“You will sleep here?” exclaimed his host.

“I will at all events lie in bed,” returned Wogan.

The innkeeper took a lamp and led the way up a narrow winding stair.

“Have a care, sir,” said he; “the stairs are steep.”

“I prefer them steep.”

“I am afraid that I keep the light from you, but there is no room for two to walk abreast.”

“It is an advantage.  I do not like to be jostled on the stairs.”

The landlord threw open a door at the top of the stairs.

“The room is a garret,” he said in apology.

“So long as it has no cupboards it will serve my turn.”

“Ah! you do not like cupboards.”

“They fill a poor man with envy of those who have clothes to hang in them.”

Wogan ascertained that there were no cupboards.  There was a key, too, in the lock, and a chest of drawers which could be moved very suitably in front of the door.

“It is a good garret,” said Wogan, laying down his bag upon a chair.

“The window is small,” continued the landlord.

“One will be less likely to fall out,” said Wogan.  One would also, he thought, be less likely to climb in.  He looked out of the window.  It was a good height from the ground; there was no stanchion or projection in the wall, and it seemed impossible that a man could get his shoulders through the opening.  Wogan opened the window to try it, and the sound of someone running came to his ears.

“Oho!” said he, but he said it to himself, “here’s a man in a mighty hurry.”

A mist was rising from the ground; the evening, too, was dark.  Wogan could see no one in the road below, but he heard the footsteps diminishing into a faint patter.  Then they ceased altogether.  The man who ran was running in the direction of Stuttgart.

“Yes, your garret will do,” said Wogan, in quite a different voice.  He had begun to think that this night he would sleep, and he realised now that he must not.  The man might be running on his own business, but this was the last night before Wogan would reach his friends.  Stuttgart was only three miles away.  He could take no risks, and so he must stay awake with his sword upon his knees.  Had his horse been able to carry him farther, he would have ridden on, but the horse was even more weary than its master.  Besides, the narrow staircase made his room an excellent place to defend.

“Get my supper,” said he, “for I am very tired.”

“Will your Excellency sup here?” asked the landlord.

“By no manner of means,” returned Wogan, who had it in his mind to spy out the land.  “I detest nothing so much as my own company.”

He went downstairs into the common room and supped off a smoked ham and a bottle of execrable wine.  While he ate a man came in and sat him down by the fire.  The man had a hot, flushed face, and when he saluted Wogan he could hardly speak.