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'That's another one I owe you for, Gwyn,' said John, slapping his friend on the shoulder in a rare gesture of affection. 'I thought that bloody arrow might have hit me somewhere, but probably you stuck him just as he was letting fly.'

They were examining the 'infernal machine' when voices and the tramp of feet along the path heralded the sheriff, Sergeant Gabriel, two men-at-arms and Sir Nicholas de Arundell. They came and stood in a ring around the body, while John regaled them with what had happened.

'Is this the man that was once with you in Hempston?' he asked, as Gwyn rolled the body over to lie face up.

Nicholas bent to look, then nodded. 'That's James de Pessy, as we knew him. Our blacksmith, though he was adept at making all kinds of objects. A useful man, if he hadn't had that vicious streak in him.' Henry de Furnellis prodded the corpse with the toe of his boot. 'I wonder why he didn't just kill de Revelle in his yard, instead of clouting him?'

'And how did he get him here from his house?' added Nicholas.

John looked at the powerful frame of the ironworker as it lay outstretched like some hateful crucifixion. 'He must have carried him in his arms; he's a strong man and Richard is only a dapper little fellow.'

'But why keep him alive in this damned hut?' asked the sheriff. 'That could only increase the risks.' De Wolfe rubbed at the dark stubble on his cheeks.

'I think he intended to kill him at the end, but was hedging his bets. He took him as a hostage, as he plainly boasted to me. Mad as he was, he didn't wish to be caught for a certain hanging.'

Would you really have let him get to sanctuary, as he wished?' asked Nicholas.

De Wolfe shrugged. 'He had a knife ready to slit de Revelle's throat. My wife would never forgive me if I let that happen! It was only because I knew Gwyn was in position on the other side of that wattle panel that I took the risk of rushing him.'

After the fraught events of the past few days, a sense of anticlimax suddenly seemed to descend on them.

Then John looked down at Brutus, who was lying quietly, watching them with his big head resting on his outstretched paws.

'There's the hero of the hour,' he said fondly. 'Without his nose, we'd never have found them and that bastard might well have got away with it.'

The old hound rose and ambled across, putting his slobbering muzzle into John's outstretched hand. He looked up as if to say, 'It was nothing really, master!'