"Beg pardon, my lord," added the sergeant, "but Mr. What's-his-name has
cut off."

"Good riddance. He's gone back to his crony at the 'Black Swan.'"

"Yes, my lord. T'other's a sergeant in my Lord Brocton's dragoons."

"Ah, I saw they were hob-and-nob together. A fellow with a ditch in his
face you could lay a finger in!"

Fortunately for me, the Marquess was busy with a last glass of wine. Here
was ill news with a vengeance. I had got out of the smoke into the smother.

"My lord," said Master Freake, "there is a man of mine, one Dot Gibson,
at the 'Black Swan,' and I shall be greatly beholden to you if you will
let your sergeant carry him a note of instructions from me."

"Stap me! I'll take it myself," cried his lordship heartily.

Master Freake went to a table to write the note. I knew now who it was
that had given me the warning. My lord pocketed the note and we all crept
quietly down to the main door to see him off. The guards made a gallant
show in the brilliant moonlight, and Master Freake, taking my arm, dragged
me out to watch them canter across the stretch of meadow, and drop out of
sight down the hill.

"Sleep in peace, Oliver," he said. "Dot Gibson will give us early news of
the movements of the enemy."

Then we strolled back, talking of the Colonel and Margaret.