"They fear me, monsieur."
"Good. There is the south attic. We can knock staples into one of the oak posts, and fasten rings to the floor. Off with you, Gaston. By the Emperor, there is no time to lose."
It happened that De Rothan's man did not have to ride all the way to Rush Heath that morning. As he was coming down Hog Lane into the road from the direction of Bexhill, he sighted a gentleman on a brown cob trotting toward him. Gaston was none too sure of the way, and he hailed the man on the brown cob.
"To Rush Heath, sir?"
Jasper reined in with a stare at this queer-looking rogue in livery on a smart-looking horse. He was riding home from Tom Stook's cottage after two hours' sleep on a bundle of bracken, the bracken being cleaner than Tom's bed.
"Yes. What do you want at Rush Heath?"
"I carry a letter."
"From the Chevalier de Rothan, perhaps?"
"From the Chevalier de Rothan to Meester Jasper Benham."
Gaston chewed at his broken English, for he was a man who talked as though he were munching a crust.