“Do you know,” continued the guide gravely, “I’ve had a narrow escape? The two men you saw laughing at the door are the very men we have been trying to avoid,—the Queen’s spies,—whom I have long known, and who would certainly have discovered me in spite of my shaved and stained face if we had come to talk to each other in the same room. Luckily my friend is smart as well as true. He knew my voice at once. To have talked with me, or warned me, or let me enter his house, would have been fatal. His only resource lay in thrashing me off his premises—as you have seen. How he will explain matters to the spies I know not, but I can trust him for that.”
“Das most awrful clebber!” exclaimed Ebony, his every feature broadening with delight at the success of the ruse.
“But what are we to do now?” asked Mark.
“Wait till he comes here. He told me to wait.”
“What! Told you?”
“Ay—you don’t suppose he let his tongue lie idle while he was using his stick. Of course I was myself taken aback at first when he seized me by the throat, but two or three muttered words in the midst of his anger opened my eyes, and I ran at once. All the way as he ran after and belaboured me he was giving me important information in furious tones! The spies are only staying with him for a short rest. When they are gone he will come and find us here.”
“He’s a born actor,” said Hockins.
“True—and he acted some of his blows heavier than I could have wished, in his anxiety to impress his information on me!” said the guide.
“What is his name?” asked Mark.
“Fisatra. He is named after a great chief who lived in this district not long ago.—But here he comes to speak for himself.”