He stretched out his aching limbs between the cool white sheets, and

when the lamp was extinguished he called to each of his three friends by

name to make sure of their company. O'Toole answered with a grunt on his

right, Misset on his left, and Gaydon from the corner of the room.

"But I have wanted you these last three days!" said Wogan. "To-morrow

when I tell you the story of them you will know how much I have wanted

you."

They got, however, some inkling of Wogan's need before the morrow came.

In the middle of the night they were wakened by a wild scream and heard

Wogan whispering in an agony for help. They lighted a lamp and saw him

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lying with his hand upon his throat and his eyes starting from his head

with horror.

"Quick," said he, "the hand at my throat! It's not the letter so much,

it's my life they want."

"It's your own hand," said Gaydon, and taking the hand he found it

lifeless. Wogan's arm in that position had gone to sleep, as the saying

is. He had waked suddenly in the dark with the cold pressure at his

throat, and in the moment of waking was back again alone in the inn near

Augsburg. Wogan indeed needed his friends.




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