“Shall we settle this matter with swords or daggers, my lord?” he said, in French.

“I think too much of my good weapons to soil them on one who assuredly has stolen the golden spurs he wears,” De Lacy replied scornfully.

“My name is Sir Philebert de Shaunde and my escutcheon quite as ancient as your own,” with another bow.

“It is a pity, then, it has fallen upon one who needs more than his own word to sustain the claim.”

De Shaunde’s face went red again and his voice trembled and was very soft.  “His Grace of Buckingham will be my voucher, though it will misdemean him much as against one who has a tymbestere for mistress and is a coward, as well.”

De Lacy glanced quickly around the room: 

“She is no longer here to feel your insults,” he said, “but it is her due that I refute them.  I never saw the maid until I saved her from your foul caress.  As for my cowardice, good sir, I but protect my knighthood against a caitiff whose very touch is dark pollution.”

“I shall proclaim your refusal to accept my defiance before King and Court and let them judge of the quarrel.”

“So be it—­you will find me known there,” Aymer replied curtly; and sauntering back to his table he called for another bottle of wine.

De Shaunde, however, stayed only long enough to give some order to the landlord, who received it with rather scant courtesy; then with showy indifference, slapping his gauntlets against his leg as he walked, he left the room by the street door just as Giles Dauvrey entered.  The squire stood aside to let him pass, then crossed to his master.

“Did you recognize that fellow?” De Lacy queried.

“No, my lord.”

“He styles himself ‘Sir Philebert de Shaunde.’”

Dauvrey scratched his head.  “I am sure I never saw him before.”

“Well, it is small matter, but as we may see more of him hereafter it will be wise to keep him in mind”—­and he told of the encounter.

“What became of the damsel?” the squire asked.

“She disappeared during the scuffle; but doubtless the landlord can advise you where to find her,” De Lacy said good-naturedly.

“A most extraordinary tymbestere who refuses a Knight’s caress,” Dauvrey explained.

“But would not, you think, refuse a squire’s?”

“Nay, my lord, what I think is that she might bear investigation.  She is in disguise, I will stake my head.”

“How does that concern us?”

“Only as every mystery concerns us now.  To solve one sometimes solves another.”

“It is a queer notion, Giles, but it will do no harm to question the host.  Meanwhile, I will await you without.”

Night had fallen and it was very dark save when, at intervals, the narrow crescent of the new moon cut through the clouds that were crowding one another in heavy ranks across the sky.  Before the inn the street was illumined feebly by the reflection of the torches and candles from within, and at wide intervals along the roadway light shone from the houses.  But all this only made more dense and visible the blackness that lay around.