Cooke impatiently bade them be quiet.
"If we're accosted, what shall we say?" he asked.
"We'll say," replied Jerry instantly, "that one of the laborers at Ardsley is dead, and that we are taking his remains to his wife's family at Turner's. I shall be his grief-stricken widow."
The guards already had Appleweight down on the floor of the wagon, where one of them sat on his feet to make sure he did not create a disturbance. At her own suggestion Jerry dismounted and climbed into the wagon, where she sat on the side board, with her head deeply bowed as though in grief.
"Pretty picture of a sorrowing widow," mumbled Collins. Ardmore punched him in the ribs to make him stop laughing. To the quick step of walking horses ahead of them was now added the whisper and creak of leather.
"Hello, there!" yelled Cooke, wishing to take the initiative.
"Hey-O!" answered a voice, and all was still.
"Give us the road; we're taking a body into Turner's to catch the morning train," called Cooke.
"Who's dead?"
"One of Ardmore's Dutchmen. Shipping the corpse back to Germany."