"No it wouldn't, Capitaine, because this farm was accursed, and people do not come here. But I don't mean that we should hide it behind the house. I mean in the house!"

Vespa hadn't really expected anything much, but this piece of folly caused his brows to lift, and he said, "Oh, you do! Have some sense, lad. How do you suppose we could get that monster inside? Through the front door?"

Pierre giggled and tugged him at the run around the side. There had once been a sort of wooden lean-to at the back that had evidently served as a wash-house, but a big branch had fallen and caused part of the outer wall to cave in. Vespa frowned at the ruins thoughtfully.

Consuela had followed, and she slipped her hand into his. "I'm sorry, Jack. Pierre means well, but this is silly; houses are not built to accommodate waggons."

"Exactly so." He lifted her hand and kissed it absently. "Which fact might work strongly in our favour. I judged it mad at first. But do you know ... it just might serve. I'll go in and have a look."

He climbed over the branch and, brushing away webs, made his way inside. Pierre went after him eagerly, but Consuela waited, saying she would forego the delights of mould and mice and spiders.

They emerged in a minute or two, and a look at Vespa's face caused her own to brighten. "It will serve?"

"I think it may! It's a dirt floor, so there's no fear of boards collapsing from the weight of the waggon." He patted the exuberant Pierre on the back. "Jolly good work, young fellow! If you were under my command, you'd get a promotion out of this!"

"I am a sergeant!" the boy howled. "Monsieur Manderville! Your lordship! Your problem it is solved by Sergeant Pierre!"

Kincraig and Manderville were incredulous at first, but Vespa pointed out that if they moved the branch and cleared away the buckled rear wall they could back the waggon inside, then replace wall and branch so that the waggon was concealed from view. "If we take care to cover any betraying wheel ruts," he said, "who would ever think to look inside a house for such a vehicle?"

Manderville pursed his lips. "To abandon his lordship's beautiful carpets is too chancy by half, in my opinion."

"It is," agreed Kincraig. "And if I could but think of a better solution, I would take it. The pity is-I cannot. I have lost my-my dear friend, and the most important thing now is to get Miss Consuela and Sergeant Pierre to safety."

With strict instructions to keep out of sight, Pierre once again became their lookout, and went skipping off full of his own importance. Consuela reconnoitred the front of the house to be sure that, once inside, the waggon would not be visible from either of the small windows, and the three men set to work. The fallen branch was heavy, but between them they were able to move it aside. They took down the rotted wall in sections, and then dragged an old tub and a rusted mangle into what had been the kitchen/parlour. Much accumulated rubble had to be cleared from the lean-to before the waggon could be backed through the gap in the wall. It would be a tricky manoeuvre for there were scant inches between the roof and the top of the waggon. Kincraig knew his horses and spoke reassuringly to each one, then stood beside the leaders, assessing the gap they must negotiate.

Vespa said, "We're fortunate that the ceiling is so high. Even so, once inside it will be a tight fit. The tail will be right against the far wall. If there's anything more you need to take with you, now would be the time to get it, sir." He waited cynically for his father to reclaim at least one sack of the stolen gold, but Kincraig said he had already removed his "necessaries" and that Manderville had been so kind as to store them in the boot of the chevalier's coach.

Consuela clung to Vespa's hand nervously. "It's going to be terribly difficult to back it into such a narrow space. If only he could just drive it in."

"Even if he could, the inside door is on the wrong wall, and we wouldn't be able to get the horses out. But they're fine animals, and if you will be so good as to guide him from this side, and Paige from the other, I think his lordship will manage."

She was only too glad to be given a chance to help. Vespa watched as the challenging process began, then slipped away. He went quickly to the carriage. Kincraig's belongings had been packed into two boxes. He inspected each item, even feeling in the pockets of the garments. There was not a single louis. So all the gold was to be left in the waggon. To be retrieved, of course, either by his lordship or an accomplice; probably, the man riding the black horse.

There arose a deafening screeching sound as he closed the boot, and he limped rapidly around the side of the house. The waggon was backed halfway into the lean-to, the horses rolling their eyes in alarm and Kincraig trying to calm them. Vespa was struck by the incongruity of the scene-the giant waggon looking for all the world as though it was being extracted from the house.

Manderville was on the top, struggling to break away a portion of the roof of the lean-to that had sagged down, blocking any further progress. "Where did you get to?" he demanded irritably. "The waggon is fairly stuck! Can't budge it back or forward, confound it all!"

Vespa retrieved two of the shovels and handed them up, then climbed to join him. The sagging portion of the roof had scraped across the top of the waggon, leaving deep gouges before it dug in, halting any further progress. He said, "If we use the shovels as levers, perhaps we can raise the roof enough for the waggon to move." He called down to Lord Kincraig to be ready to back the team again, then he and Manderville attempted to lever the roof up. It was hard going and he wondered cynically what would happen if the pressure of the shovels broke through the top of the waggon. He was denied that scene as the obstructing section of the roof suddenly buckled and broke off. He and Manderville cleared away the debris and climbed down and Kincraig once more inched his team backwards. Within minutes the waggon was inside and halted by the far wall.

The cart-horses were lathered from their efforts and Manderville walked them away to allow them to cool down.

Consuela, his lordship and Vespa stood gazing at the remains of the lean-to.

Kincraig said, "It's very tight, but once we replace the wall and that big branch, I do believe it will show not a sign."

"Except for the pole, of course," said Vespa. "It will have to come off, and should slide underneath-or is that not possible, sir?"

"The work of a few moments, merely. When I designed my waggon, I tried to anticipate any predicament, you see."

"You did indeed." Vespa met Kincraig's gentle smile but did not return it and wondered how many 'predicaments' his larcenous sire had surmounted these past few years.

Consuela exclaimed, "Oh, my goodness! What about the horses?"

At last that dilemma had been mentioned. Vespa thought with bleak irony, 'Well? Speak up, my lord!'

Kincraig said, "Oh, they'll fend for themselves well enough. We'll simply turn them loose."

"If we do that, sir," argued Vespa, "anyone coming upon them will surely realize there's a cart or a waggon somewhere about."

"Or steal them," said Consuela. "They're beautiful animals."

Kincraig made light of such objections. He would leave instructions with a peasant who dwelt nearby. The old man would be glad enough to earn a few pence in exchange for making sure that the cart-horses were taken care of and kept from the hands of thieves.

Vespa thought, 'And kept available for your friends!'

The roof and walls were propped and nailed more or less together again, the branch hauled back in place and another branch added to brace it and conceal a hole in the wall. Manderville and his lordship led the cart-horses off to the peasant's hut, and Consuela worked beside Vespa to obliterate the ruts left by the heavy wheels.

"When people conceal things, my Captain," she said, wielding a large rake industriously, "other people are apt to imagine much worse things."

It was true. And it would be kinder to tell her now than to let her go on dreaming her dreams of their happy future. He slanted a quick glance at her face; none too clean after this hectic day, the wet dark curls straggling about her flushed cheeks, and her blue eyes watching him with such trust and devotion. No complaints that she was tired and cold and her clothes wet from the rain; no moans about missing her Grandmama, or the need for her maid and a comfortable bed and a chance to bathe and change clothes. She was the bravest and loveliest creature he had ever known, and he loved her so much it was an ache inside him.

His jaw set, and he went on raking with swift angry strokes. How could he tell her their last hope was gone? How could he bring her such grief-especially now when her beloved Nonna was not here to comfort her? Besides, he did not really know that his suspicions were justified. Suppose it developed that his lordship was an innocent dupe? After all, he'd been ready enough to leave the treasure waggon-perhaps he wasn't aware of what the roof contained. But that was grasping at straws, of course, and a foolish attempt to delude himself. There were too many pieces that fit the puzzle, too many coincidences for there to be any- Consuela leaned on her rake and pushed back a curl that had tumbled down her forehead. "What has he done, Jack?"

Startled, his eyes flashed to her face again.

"My poor dear," she said tenderly. "Don't you know yet that you cannot hide your sorrows from me? Oh, I admit you do very well at concealing your feelings from others. But when you are distressed, I can feel it. And you have been deeply distressed ever since Lord Kincraig's waggon almost fell over. Something happened then, I know it. Won't you tell me? Perhaps I can help."

A lump came into his throat and his eyes blurred. He said brokenly, "My precious little Signorina ... I don't deserve-"

"Capitaine! Capitaine!" Pierre galloped down the slope at reckless speed, knees flying. "Bad ... people! A great black coach with ... with the coachman and a footman in black livery. The coachman was that seasick pirate from ... the ship!"

"Ti Chiu!" whispered Vespa. "Then Monteil's found us! Outriders?"

"Oui, mon Capitaine! There are two other men besides."

"The same pair we chased off yesterday?"

The boy's eyes became very round. "But-yes, sir! With the grey horses. How did you know?"

"They're coming here?"

"No. They went on past, but the great giant coachman looked this way. Oh, but my heart it stand still! And the black and white man he put his head out of the window and give a shout, and the great giant slowed the coach. But then he saw it, and I saw his face, and I thought, 'No, Sergeant Pierre! He is very afraid. He will not come here!' And I was right! He drove on. Fast. Just as I knew!"

"What did he see?" asked Consuela curiously.

The boy led the way from the yard and pointed up the slope towards the lane. "There! That is what frightened the giant! I did not see it when first we came, but it is why this farm died and why nobody comes here!"

Vespa said, "It's another of the menhirs."

"Where?" asked Consuela, "I do not see it."

"There, by the sycamore trees. And it's one of the larger specimens."

At first, she could only discern the trees, but then she realized that the shadows in the centre were not shadows, but instead one of the great standing stones left by the ancient people. "How fascinating they are," she said.

"And how lucky we are that Imre Monteil's coachman is superstitious," said Vespa. "But he's much too close. We daren't give him another chance."

He managed to imbue them with his sense of urgency, and very soon they were back on the lane. This time Kincraig had volunteered to drive the carriage, noting kindly that poor Manderville was worn out from his cold and lack of sleep. He had obtained excellent directions from his peasant friend, he said, and now knew the quickest route to the coast. "A most excellent fellow! He was even able to tell me where a likely fishing boat lies at anchor."

Riding Bruine beside the coach, Vespa said, "Was he, indeed. And did his excellence cost you enormous largesse, my lord?"

Kincraig laughed. "What a cynic!"

"What's a 'cynic'?" asked Pierre, who had claimed a seat on the box.

"I am," said Vespa dryly. "And we should put 'em along now, sir. It's liable to rain again at any minute, and there's little enough daylight left."

Kincraig cracked the whip, the horses leaned into their collars and the coach bounced and jolted over a surface poor to begin with, but made worse by potholes and mud.

The afternoon was drawing in and Vespa's hope to drive through the night had to be abandoned when the clouds darkened and an icy rain began to patter down once more. He shouted, "Hold up a minute, sir. Our sergeant must go inside, else we'll have him down with a cold also!"

The boy was wet and shivering and raised no objections. Vespa swung him from the box and handed him in to Manderville. Consuela looked wan and tired, but she had a smile ready, and set to work at once to dry Pierre's curls.

Vespa asked, "Are your pistols loaded, Paige?"

Manderville nodded. "Trouble?"

"Perhaps not, but I've twice thought someone was behind us."

"We'll have to stop, even so, old fellow. Won't be able to drive after dark. Not one of us knows these roads."

Another half hour and Vespa saw a ribbon of smoke rising above a rolling hill some distance ahead. If it came from the hearth of an inn, it might be their last chance of shelter for the night.

He called, "My lord, are there are any inns or pensions along-"

There came a high-pitched metallic twang. It was an evil sound, and one he knew. For an instant of stark terror his mind warned that a crossbow bolt could go right through the back of the carriage! Dreading to hear a scream, he heard instead a choking cry. His gaze flashed to the box. The reins had slipped from Lord Kincraig's hands and he was slumping forward.

Rage seared through Vespa. He leaned perilously from the saddle and caught the leathers. Drawing the team to a halt, he turned Bruine and rode to the window.

"Help his lordship!" he shouted, then drove his spurs home.

It was a hurt the little mare had not expected from this man. Ever faithful, she sprang into a gallop. Vespa crouched low over the saddlehorn, retribution in his heart, pistol in one hand, the wind whipping at his face and his narrowed eyes fixed on the distant rider who had left the lane and now plunged at reckless speed across the meadows.

15.

There was no doubt in Vespa's mind but that the fleeing assassin was one of Duncan Keith's hired bullies and that he was now making a frantic dash to rejoin his comrades. The awareness and with it the knowledge that he himself might very well be riding straight into an ambush did not for an instant weigh with him. All that mattered in the white heat of his fury was that he bring down this cowardly murderer.

His quarry left the lane and headed across country. Vespa followed, not slackening his speed. The assassin turned and glared back at him. It was a costly move for at that moment his mount stumbled. He was a good horseman and retained his seat and the animal recovered almost at once, but the distance between them had shortened. A moment later the useless crossbow was flung aside. Again, the assassin turned. Vespa saw the flash before he heard the shot, followed by the hum of a bullet whizzing past. They topped a rise and he saw the gleam of water below. The other man was looking back to see if his shot had gone home, and he turned too late to avoid the lake.

With a howled curse, he wrenched at the reins. Frightened and confused, his horse tried to change direction only to flounder and go down with a tangle of legs, a shrill neigh of fright and a great splash.

Vespa was on the bank then, pulling Bruine up and hurling himself after his adversary who had been thrown a short distance from the shore.

The water was like ice. It was hip deep when he reached the assassin, but the man seemed dazed and was evidently finding it difficult to stand.

"Murderous cowardly swine!" Vespa pushed his head under the water.

Strengthened by terror the assassin fought and struggled madly. He succeeded in breaking free and his head shot from the surface. Vespa grabbed his hair and forced him down again, avoiding the arms that flailed in frenzied attempts to beat him away. The desperate struggles weakened, and then ceased. Vespa let his head come up and he sagged, choking for breath and gasping out faint pleas not to be drowned. The temptation to deal him just such a fate was strong, but Vespa wanted information. Dragging the half-conscious rogue by the hair, he waded to shore. His prisoner tried feebly to crawl out, but he was too weakened. Vespa hauled him onto the grass and kicked him onto his back.

The face was pale and half covered by strands of wet hair. But even in the fading light there was no mistaking him.

"You accursed fool," panted Vespa. "You've just murdered your own father!"

"But-m'sieu," wailed the proprietor, wringing his bony hands and trotting along the narrow passage beside Vespa, "you both are very wet! And it is that I have floors, you comprehend! And rugs, m'sieu! They will be ruined, m'sieu!"

"Where are my friends?" Vespa had tied Keith's hands and now used the crossbow he'd retrieved to prod him towards the stairs of this small hedge-tavern.

"I cannot," moaned Keith, swaying drunkenly. "I shall ... fall down."

"Then I'll have the pleasure of kicking you until you get up," said Vespa grittily. "I saw our carriage in your yard, host," he added. "Don't make me drag this carrion up your stairs to no purpose!" He flourished the crossbow and the host recoiled eyeing the weapon in horror.

"No, m'sieu! I mean-yes, m'sieu! The poor gentleman is above-stairs and my girl but a minute ago finished washing the blood from the floor, and now, m'sieu-"

"You will be well paid."

At these magical words the host brightened. "It will be the second door to your right hand, m'sieu. Madame Lannion, my wife, is with the young lady."

Vespa nodded and urged Duncan Keith on. "Move, dog's meat!"

The stairs were steep and winding. At the top the second door in a short passage was partly open and Vespa shoved Keith inside.

Manderville and a tall middle-aged woman, Madame Lannion no doubt, were bending over the bed. Kincraig lay on his side with his eyes closed, the crossbow shaft still transfixing his right side just below the armpit. Consuela, pale but composed, was taking his lordship's shirt as the woman cut it away. She looked up when Vespa entered, and said unsteadily, "Thank God you've come!"

"Is he still alive?" asked Vespa.

She nodded, staring at Keith.

Vespa experienced an overpowering sense of relief, but there was a lot of blood and, remembering his lordship's medicine bottle, he knew death lurked nearby.

Manderville turned his head. "Caught the bastard, did you?" he said, forgetting the presence of ladies. "I wonder you troubled to fetch him back, if-" He broke off, staring at Keith. "Good Lord! It wasn't him?"