“Would you question me as to their names, sir—with the flame of a candle?” she replied. “I have heard that is a gentle method of yours!” I remembered the sergeant’s threat to the steward, and I coloured hotly at her words.
“No, madam,” I answered when I could speak, “for I should as little expect truth from your lips as I should look to you for gratitude!” And without further words I turned and, closely followed by the trooper, ran down the steps.
Once in the road, however, I was forced to restrain my impatience and to slacken my pace, for the man beside me was little used to running, and, moreover, was exhausted by his previous exertions. I questioned him closely, therefore, as to the details of what had passed. From this I gathered that just before their supper was served the man whom they called Long Marsden had taken a lantern and stepped across to the stables to see that all was safe there, as one or other of the men had done at short intervals throughout the evening. That at first his absence caused no uneasiness, but when ten minutes had elapsed and he did not return, their suspicions were aroused, and two of their number were sent to look for him. That they found the stable door bolted on the inside, and upon this being forced open, they found a great gap in the back wall of the shed, where half a dozen boards had been removed and the horses gone. More, the lantern lay upon the ground and a thin trail of blood led through the opening. This they had followed round the adjacent buildings until they came to the square before the inn. Here, in the shadow of the court-house, they saw a dark mass huddled in the village stocks, which proved to be the body of the missing trooper. He was quite insensible, and was bleeding freely from a gash upon the forehead; and the stocks being secured by a heavy padlock, all their efforts to force it had proved unavailing.
And all this, be it understood, had happened within a hundred feet of the inn.
“But did you see no one, man?” I said at length.
“Not a soul,” he replied. “The place might be deserted.”
And upon reaching the village, I found this last statement fully verified; for the street lay empty and silent under the moon. Not a light showed in any of the houses on either side. All was darkness and silence.
And rendered even more uneasy by this ominous silence than by the open clamour of a few hours previous, I passed hastily up the street to where the moonlight fell upon a group of scarlet-coated figures gathered round the framework of the stocks.
As I approached the sergeant detached himself from the group and came to meet me.
“He is coming to,” he said briefly, saluting.