"But what is your intent?" asked John, turning to me.
"To hide in a retreat not far away, which is impossible of access to any one who does not know the road, and it needs wary walking, even when one does know it, for it winds through quaking bog and mire-pits and hidden pools."
"You mean Lindum," said Bess. "No one knows the way but the hermit."
"You are mistaken, Bess," I answered. "Daft Jack knows it well, and so do I. I spent a week there last autumn, and promised the hermit I would spend another with him this year. I shall be in safety there, and when the hue and cry is over, I will make my way to Holland."
"I think your plan is admirable," said John. "It is the last place in the world your enemies will think of, and if they find you are there by any chance, they will be much at a loss to get at you. I will remain here in readiness to join you when it is prudent to break cover. Has the hermit pigeons, do you know?"
"Flocks of them."
"Then you have but to bring a few to Messic Mere, or send them by your host, and I shall be provided with messengers in case of need. I will be on the water early on Wednesday, and every day after, until I see or hear from you."
Then arose question what to do with our prisoners, and in particular with Boswell. On going to look into the outhouse in which he had been confined, I found the place empty. When the Beltonians withdrew I forgot Boswell, and he had contrived to escape. This hastened our proceedings. With so wily an enemy at liberty, and perhaps spying upon us, it was needful to be as quick and crafty as we knew how to be. In dealing with the other men, we took counsel with Bess, who bade me and John talk roughly to them of our intent to shoot them, and while we were threatening, up came she to make intercession for them, and to promise on their behalf that they would take no part against us, if we spared their lives. She swore them to this in words which the gipsies consider most binding. So I bade her release them at a time when I hoped the travellers would be well on their way. Mr. Ulceby gave up for the present the endeavour to ascertain the truth concerning his son's death, John Drury vowing to search out the matter on his return.
It was not easy to find horses for the party going to Hull. Mr. Ulceby and his man had their roadsters, and John was to take my Trueboy, who was much too frisky after his long idleness, though John had seen to it that he had some exercise every day, to be ridden by a novice. Drury had two horses, one a decent nag, on which the dame went to market, and this we saddled for Anna. The other was too old and heavy for our use, but John caught a sober steed which had carried one of the Mulgrave troopers, and induced the doctor to mount him, taking Martha on pillion. They trusted to doing better in Belton.
Leave-taking had to be short, and for once I was glad that so it must be, for my love was more despondent than I had ever known her.