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
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.