"What makes you think so?" asked Master Nathaniel sharply.
"I don't quite know," faltered Hazel. "I just—wondered."
Before long they were joined by the labourer and the law-man blacksmith—a burly, jovial, red-haired rustic of about fifty.
"Good evening," cried Master Nathaniel briskly, "I am Nathaniel Chanticleer" (he was sure that the news of his deposition could not yet have had time to travel to Swan) "and if my business were not very pressing and secret I would not, you may be sure, have had you roused from your bed at this ungodly hour. I have reason to think that something of great importance may be hidden under this herm, and I wanted you to be there to see that our proceedings are all in order," and he laughed genially. "And here's the guarantee that I'm no masquerader," and he removed his signet ring and held it out to the blacksmith. It was engraved with his well-known crest, and with six chevrons, in token that six of his ancestors had been High Seneschals of Dorimare.
Both the blacksmith and the labourer were at first quite overwhelmed by learning his identity, but he pressed a spade into the hand of each and begged them to begin digging without further delay.
For some time they toiled away in silence, and then one of the spades came against something hard.
It proved to be a small iron box with a key attached to it.
"Out with it! out with it!" cried Master Nathaniel excitedly. "I wonder if it contains a halter! By the Sun, Moon and Stars, I wonder!"
But he was sobered by a glimpse of poor Hazel's scared face.
"Forgive me, my child," he said gently, "my thirst for revenge has made me forget both decency and manners. And, as like as not, there will be nothing in it but a handful of Duke Aubrey crowns—the nest-egg of one of your ancestors."