I had not quill nor crayon nor paper.  I had read of men writing with their blood, but this method appeared very unsatisfactory.  At length I bethought me of the fire, and taking a piece of charcoal I scrawled the words on the under side of my table.  This I did, promising myself to ask for pens and paper at the first opportunity, and barely had I finished my task when the renegade reappeared.