CHAPTER XXII.
LORD LABRADOR.
The Roman causeway ran into the macadam high road from Harthborough to Timsdale-Horton almost on the level, with still a slight fall towards Harthborough, the smoke of whose chimneys was already visible.
Half a mile ahead of them was a knot of men, gathered about what might have been a wheelbarrow. A quarter of a mile further,
"Three men," said Dick.
"Motor-cycle and side-car," said Amaryllis. "Is it another picket?"
Instead of answering, Dick replied with a command:
"Hold tight. Don't turn to look at 'em. You're talking to me by the yard as we go by. We go right through. Shan't give 'em an inch."
The car darted forward. The road ran between stone dykes, bordering pasture and arable enclosures. The pace, close upon fifty miles an hour, took them up to and past the suspected group so swiftly that it was impossible to note the faces of the men who formed it while their movements of recoil and surprise might have been due to the unusual speed alone.