Then he too went up the ladder, and found himself with the others in an attic.
It was a bare place, the only furniture in it being two chairs and two rough wooden bedsteads without heads to them, mere trestles indeed, that stood about three feet apart against a boarded partition which appeared to divide this room from some other attic beyond.

Also, there was a hole in the wall immediately beneath the eaves of the house that served the purpose of a window, over which a sack was nailed.

"We are poor folk," said the landlord as they glanced round this comfortless garret, "but many great people have slept well here, as doubtless you will also," and he turned to descend the ladder.
"It will serve," answered Castell; "but, friend, tell your men to leave the stable open, as we start at dawn, and be so good as to give me that lamp." "I cannot spare the lamp," he grunted sulkily, with his foot already on the first step.
Peter strode to him and grasped his arm with one hand, while with the other he seized the lamp.

The man cursed, and began to fumble at his belt, as though for a knife, whereon Peter, putting out his strength, twisted his arm so fiercely that in his pain he loosed the lamp, which remained in Peter's hand.

The inn-keeper made a grab at it, missed his footing and rolled down the ladder, falling heavily on the floor below.
Watching from above, to their relief they saw him pick himself up, and heard him begin to revile them, shaking his fist and vowing vengeance.
Then Peter shut down the trap-door.