"Raté encore une fois?" sneered Polignac, inferring the other's meaning from his tone.
"Parbleu!" growled Aglionby, adding in French: "They ought to have been here a quarter of an hour ago. They cannot be long now."
Harry's curiosity was growing. The two men were clearly expecting somebody; for a moment he wondered whether Aglionby was meditating another attempt on Sherebiah, but it could hardly be that, for the captain had looked towards Breda as he spoke, not in the other direction. He listened with all his ears.
"They may as well stay away altogether if the others are here before them. We are only ten minutes ahead."
"Nearer twenty, if you believe me. They were riding slowly when we saw them—a mile behind; and we saved several minutes by the short cut through the wood. There is time yet."
As he spoke, three figures could be dimly seen coming along the road from the direction of Breda. Aglionby and his friend at once shrank back behind the dike, but after a moment's scrutiny, being apparently satisfied, came out again and stood waiting by the side of the road. The three men approaching caught sight of them and hastened their steps, to be received with curses when they reached the spot. One of the men, an Englishman, sullenly defended himself.
"It is all due to that confounded church clock. It has never gone right since Mr. Fanshawe tampered with it. But we are in time, Captain."
"No thanks to you," growled Aglionby. "Where is the rope?"
One of the other men opened a sack he carried, and produced a stout rope some thirty feet long.
"Take one end," said Aglionby, "and fix it to the gatepost; at the top, fool, not the bottom. You, Simmons, take the other end and loop it once round the tree. And quickly, do you hear?"