“God forbid!” said la Garda.

They dismounted and opened a gate that was gilded all over, in a low wall of round boulders.  They went up a narrow path between thick ilices and came to the green door.  They pulled a bell whose handle was a symbol carved in copper, one of the Priest’s mysteries.  The bell boomed through the house, a tiny musical boom, and the Priest opened the door; and Rodriguez addressed him in Latin.  And the Priest answered him.

At first la Garda had not realised what had happened.  And then the Priest beckoned and they all entered his house, for Rodriguez had asked him for ink.  Into a room they came where a silver ink-pot was, and the grey plume of the goose.  Picture no such ink-pot, my reader, as they sell to-day in shops, the silver no thicker than paper, and perhaps a pattern all over it guaranteed artistic.  It was molten silver well wrought, and hollowed for ink.  And in the hollow there was the magical fluid, the stuff that rules the world and hinders time; that in which flows the will of a king, to establish his laws for ever; that which gives valleys unto new possessors; that whereby towers are held by their lawful owners; that which, used grimly by the King’s judge, is death; that which, when poets play, is mirth for ever and ever.

No wonder la Garda looked at it in awe, no wonder they crossed themselves again:  and then Rodriguez wrote.  In the silence that followed the jaws of la Garda dropped, while the old Priest slightly smiled, for he somewhat divined the situation already; and, being the people’s friend, he loved not la Garda more than he was bound by the rules of his duty to man.

Then one of la Garda spoke, bringing back his confidence with a bluster.  “Morano has sold his soul to Satan,” he said, “in exchange for Satan’s aid, and Satan has taught his tongue Latin and guides his fingers in the affairs of the pen.”  And so said all la Garda, rejoicing at finding an explanation where a moment ago there was none, as all men at such times do:  little it matters what the explanation be:  does a man in Sahara, who finds water suddenly, in quire with precision what its qualities are?

And then the Priest said a word and made a sign, against which Satan himself can only prevail with difficulty, and in presence of which his spells can never endure.  And after this Rodriguez wrote again.  Then were la Garda silent.

And at length the leader said, and he called on them all to testify, that he had made no charge whatever against this traveller; moreover, they had escorted him on his way out of respect for him, because the roads were dangerous, and must now depart because they had higher duties.  So la Garda departed, looking before them with stern, preoccupied faces and urging their horses on, as men who go on an errand of great urgency.  And Rodriguez, having thanked them for their protection upon the road, turned back into the house and the two sat down together, and Rodriguez told his rescuer the story of the hospitality of the Inn of the Dragon and Knight.