“You have the letter?” he asked.
“It is here.” Luckily he did not speak the patois.
“I will take it.”
Nikky held it out. The man fumbled for it, took it.
“Orders have come,” said the voice, “that you remain here for the night. In the morning you are to carry dispatches to the city.”
Poor Nikky! With his car facing toward the lodge, and under necessity, in order to escape, to back it out into the highway! He thought quickly. There was no chance of overpowering his man quickly and silently. And the house was not empty. From beyond the door came the sounds of men’s voices, and the thud of drinking-mugs on a bare table.
“You will take me up to the house, and then put the car away until morning.”
Nikky breathed again. It was going to be easy, after all. If only the road went straight to the shooting-box itself, the rest was simple. But he prayed that he make no false turning, to betray his ignorance.
“Very well,”—he said.
His companion opened the door behind him. “Ready, now,” he called. “The car is here.”