"I mean her ladyship, Zebedee."

"Aye, aye for sure, sir, for sure!"

"And if there be indeed villainy afoot--if there is, why then egad, Sergeant Zeb, I'll not rest until I know who is at the bottom on't!"

"Aye--who, sir? 'Tis what we're a-going to find out to-night I do hope. And when we do find out, sir--how then?"

"Why then, Zeb--ha, then--we shall see, we shall see!"

After this they rode on in silence awhile, the Major staring up at the glory of the stars again.

"If so be we should be so fortuned as to come in for a little bit o'

roughsome to-night, your honour," said the Sergeant thoughtfully, "you'd find this here bludgeon a vast deal handier than your sword and play very sweet at close quarters, sir."

"By the way, Zebedee, I think you once told me you surprised--er--Mr.

Dalroyd i' the orchard one night?"

"I did so, your honour."

"And did you chance to---ah--to see his face, to observe his features clear and distinct, as 'twere, Zeb?"

"Aye, sir."

"Well?"

"Aye, very well, sir!"

By this time they had reached the cross-roads and here the Major checked his horse suddenly, whereupon Sergeant Zebedee did likewise.

"Sergeant!"

"Sir?"

The Major leaned from his saddle until he could peer into the Sergeant's eyes.

"Did Mr. Dalroyd remind you of--of anyone you have ever seen before?"

"Of Captain Effingham as your honour killed years agone."

"Ah!" said the Major and sat awhile frowning up at the stars. "So you likewise marked the resemblance, did you, Zeb?"

"I did so, sir."

"And what did you think----"

"Why sir, that Captain Effingham having been killed ten years agone, is very dead indeed, by this time!"

"Supposing he wasn't killed--how then, Zeb?"

"Why then sir he was alive arter all--though he looked dead enough."

"'Twas a high chest-thrust you'll mind, Zeb."

"Base o' the throat, sir."

"Why have you never mentioned your suspicions, Zebedee?"

"Because, your honour, 'tis ever my tactics to let sleeping dogs lie--bygones is bygones and what is, is. If, on t'other hand Mr.

Dalroyd's Captain Effingham which G.o.d forbid, then all I says is--what is, ain't. Furthermore and moreover Mr. Dalroyd would be the last man I'd ha' you cross blades with on account o' the Captain's devilish sword-play--that thrust of his in carte nigh did your honour's business ten years ago, consequently to-day I hold my peace regarding suspicions o' same."

"D'ye think he'd--kill me, Zeb?"

"I know 'twould sure be one or t'other o' ye, sir."

"And that's true enough!" said the Major and rode on again. "None the less, Zeb," said he after awhile, "none the less he shall have another opportunity of trying that thrust if, as I think, he is at the bottom of this vile business."

But now they were drawing near to Inchbourne village and, reining up, the Major glanced about him:

"What of our horses, Zebedee?" he questioned. "'Twill never do to go clattering through the village at this hour."

"No more 'twill, sir. Old Bet's cottage lieth a good mile and a half t'other side Inchbourne, d'ye see. Further on is a lane that fetcheth a circuit about the village--this way, your honour." So they presently turned off into a narrow and deep-rutted lane that eventually brought them out upon a desolate expanse with the loom of woods beyond.

"Yonder's a spinney, sir, 'tis there we'll leave our horses."

Riding in among the trees they dismounted and led their animals into the depths of the wood until they came to a little dell well hidden in the brush. Here, having securely tethered their horses they sat down to wait the moonrise.

"Sir," said the Sergeant, settling pistols in pockets, "this doth mind me o' the night we lay in such another wood as this, the night we stormed Douai, you'll mind I was wounded just arter we carried the counterscarp----"

"By a pike-thrust meant for me, Zeb."

"'Twas a pretty fight, sir, 'specially the forcing o' the palisadoes--'twere just such another night as this----"

"Only we were younger then, Zeb, years younger."

"Why as to that, sir, I've been feeling younger than e'er I was, of late--and yonder cometh the moon at last! This way, sir!"

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

OF ROGUES AND PLOTS

The moon was fast rising as they left the shadow of the trees and crossing a meadow presently saw before them the loom of a building which, on near approach, proved to be a very tumble-down, two-storied cottage. The Sergeant led the way past a broken fence through a riotous tangle of weeds and so to a door whereon he rapped softly; almost immediately it was opened and old Betty the witch stood on the threshold peering into the dimness under her hand.

"Mam," said the Sergeant, "'tis us--we've come!"

"Aha!" she croaked. "'Tis you--'tis my big sojer--my fine sojer-sergeant an' the lord squire o' the Manor! Come your ways--come your ways in--'tis an ill place for fine folk but 'tis all they've left me. Come in!" Following Sergeant Zebedee's broad back the Major stumbled down three steps into a small, dim chamber, very close and airless, lighted by a smoky rushlight. Old Betty closed the door, curtseyed to the Major and clutching at Sergeant Zebedee's hand, stooped and kissed it, whereupon he glanced apologetically at the Major and saluted.