Seeing that he was unlikely to get any further information he sauntered off, but disappeared as quickly as possible into the inn.
"Mounseer's coach is in yard, sir," he said quietly, "and a-waiten for Mounseer."
"Ah! Are we in time, Sherry? Call the ostler."
When the man appeared, Harry slipt a coin into his hand.
"Monsieur de Polignac is making a journey. Tell me all you know about it."
The man replied that the coach had been sent to the inn two days before. Monsieur de Polignac was expected at any moment. He had recently sold his estate and was leaving for Germany. It was thought that he wished to take his departure quietly, for he had always been unpopular with his tenants, and he ran the risk of a hostile demonstration if the time of his setting out were known. He probably intended to slip secretly away from his house and make his real start from Eyndhoven. A large quantity of his baggage had passed through the town a few days before; but, strangely enough, a carter coming in had reported that Monsieur's wagons were going south, which was certainly not towards Berlin, the alleged destination. On the road they had taken there was great danger of their falling into the hands of the French, for it was not more than five or six leagues from Marshal Villeroy's lines, and Monsieur as a Huguenot refugee would meet with scant consideration from his countrymen.
"Has Monsieur de Polignac himself been to Eyndhoven lately?" asked Harry.
"No, Mynheer; the arrangements were made for him by an English officer who fought at Blenheim, where the great duke gave the French such a drubbing a few months back. He was a masterful man; gave orders that the horses were to be ready at a moment's notice and to be kept in good condition. Only this morning a messenger came with instructions for the coach to be ready by eight o'clock to-night, with a stock of wine and provisions which Monsieur will take with him."
Harry was perturbed at this news. It was clear that Polignac intended to depart in haste; but whether on political grounds, having found his character as spy detected, or in pursuance of the plot hinted at by Simmons, it was impossible to know. If the latter, there was certainly not a moment to lose, and it behoved to push on with all speed to Lindendaal. Fresh horses had been waiting for some minutes. Harry and Sherebiah were soon in the saddle, and set off at a gallop along the miry road, into the gathering night.
Some hours previously a traveller approaching Lindendaal from the opposite direction had passed through Breda. He had found it impossible there to get a change of team for his coach; all the horses in the town were out, conveying to their homes the gentry of the countryside who had come into Breda for a grand ball given the night before by the officers of the garrison, the finale of a week of entertainments. Not even Mynheer Grootz's liberal offers sufficed to secure a team at once. The motive of his journey was clearly urgent, for instead of waiting a few hours until some of the hacks returned, he pushed on at once with his tired animals to Tilburg, four leagues farther on the road. There he succeeded in hiring fresh horses, and without delay continued his journey.