The man paused in his walk and turned a face upon the lad, all agrin in the lamplight.
“Let us not discuss the how or why of things,” said he. “It is for us to do as we are bidden and question nothing, Master Seaforth.”
Again Ben’s eyes went to the man’s face with more than usual sharpness.
“Seaforth!” was what shot through his mind. “That is the name of the man whom Johnson Quinsey bid me beware of, only a few hours ago.”
To the other, however, he said:
“You have made something of a mistake, I think, sir. My name is not Seaforth.”
The iron-shod point of the timber leg rang sharply upon the frozen ground. The owner of it waved his hand after the fashion of a man who concerns himself with nothing which does not immediately bear upon him.
“You were sent as a courier to York, were you not?” asked he.
Ben nodded.
“And you selected a certain one to accompany you, as requested?”