“I never thought it best!” cried Brunow, fuming. “Hark! What the devil's that?”
There was no need to call our attention to the sound, for everybody heard it. There was no need to ask what it was, for it was impossible to mistake it. It was the sound of a cannon from the fortress. We stared at each other in the uncertain light.
“That's my fault, gentlemen,” said Hinge, calmly. “They've found the stable sentry, and he's told 'em what has happened. He came up, sir,” addressing himself to me, “just as the count was climbing out o' window. I knocked him on the 'ead of course, but they go the rounds at midnight, and they've come across him. Not a doubt about it.”
Just as he finished speaking another gun sounded. We were between three and four miles away, but in the stillness of the night it seemed much nearer.
“And with a good road under us we might by this time have been within half a dozen miles of the frontier and safe.”
“Safe?” said Hinge. “Quite so, sir. Safe to run into the ground at the toll-gate, sir. We're a lot better off where we are. I know Captain Fyffe's plan, sir, and it's the best whatever happens.”
“Gentlemen,” said the count, “let us dismount and rest our horses. We may have need of all that they can do for us.”
A third gun banged from the distant battery. The river was raging before us. The clouds parted, and the full moon shone down with a light almost as clear as that of day.