When they reached the other side the road leading to Redmead stretched before them. It had grown suddenly darker. The road was bounded on either side by hedges, and the branches of trees interlaced each other in an arch-way overhead. Whether from the sudden darkness or that he had scented some hidden danger, Falcon slackened speed.
"What's wrong, Falcon?" cried Paul. "Get on—the sooner our journey's ended, the sooner you'll have your supper. Now, then, old boy."
The horse was about to speed forward again, but scarcely were the words from Paul's lips than a man sprang from the hedge and seized the bridle.
"Stop!" came a sharp, decisive voice, with a foreign accent, "Stop!"
Paul just caught a glimpse of the man's face in the half light. The cheekbones were somewhat high, but narrowed down sharply at the chin. He wore eyeglasses on the eyes, which seemed to Paul, in that swift glance he caught of them, of a steely blue. He had a thick, military moustache, drawn out to fierce points; but his chin was clean-shaven. Directly he stopped the horse, a second man sprang to the other side of it. Paul immediately concluded they were robbers.
"What do you want? I've got no money—at least, only a few coppers. You're welcome to those, if you'll only let me ride on."
"We're not robbers," said the first man, who seemed to be the master of the two, "and, therefore, we don't want your coppers. We've got one or two questions to put to you. If you'll only answer them civilly, we'll let you go your way. If you don't answer them——"
He broke off with a shrug of the shoulders to indicate the terrible fate which might await the boy in the event of his declining to answer the questions put to him.
"You're riding Mr. Moncrief's horse, Falcon?"
Paul wondered who the man was, and how he had come by his information.