He had already one leg on the sill when a convulsive movement of the man on the bed made him stop.

He climbed back into the room, drew the knife out of the board and out of the hand pinned to the board, and making a bandage wrapped the wound up.
"You must lie there till morning, my friend," Wogan whispered in his ear, "but here's a thing to console you.

I have found a name for your inn; I have painted the device upon your sign-board.

The 'Inn of the Five Red Fingers.' There's never a passer-by but will stop to inquire the reason of so conspicuous a sign;" and Wogan climbed out of the window, lowered himself till he hung at the full length of his arms from the stanchion, and dropped on the ground.

He picked up his saddle-bag and crept round the house to the stable.