or
I shall not let a hoof leave the yard! What is Lord Wargrove to me?"

"Very well, then, cousin. I will send you the document by a sure hand,
and I leave the fifty pounds in your hands now, merely taking your
receipt for the Duke's satisfaction."

The Spy well knew that there was not the least possibility of getting
his Royal Highness to sign such a document, but as he himself was
leaving the country for good at any rate, he did not mind adding a
little forgery to his other necessary arrangements. Paper and seal were
easily accessible in the parlour, where the Duke often kept Eben waiting
for hours. He was an expert in other people's penmanship, and the
princely scrawl would not present the least difficulty to him. Still, in
case of accident, it would be as well to keep back the document till the
last possible moment. For his cousin was not a man to be easily
hoodwinked, and he might take it into his head to ride over, document in
hand, to require the prince acknowledge his own signature.

As he rode away the spy said to himself, "Yes, forgery it is, of course.
But sometimes it is worth while tossing a penny to see which it shall
be--fortune, or the hangman's rope."

CHAPTER XI

THE TRAMPLING OF HORSE IN THE NIGHT

Whitefoot the brown-eyed, intent on his business, was taking his usual
route to Ladykirk. It was a dark night, but he could see more and
farther than any man. He knew that Patsy would be waiting for him in the
kitchen of Miss Aline's house, that she would have something extremely
toothsome for him to eat while she was preparing the collar which in a
few minutes would be slipped about his neck. Then he would be free to
return to his master in the secret den which he had chosen to sleep in
that night.

Whitefoot moved like a lank and ghostly wolf through the tall grass and
crops, skirting the barer places and keeping close in to the dusky
verges of the hedges. All went well with him till he took the ha-ha
ditch at his usual racing pace, and was instantly wrapped up by a net
into a kicking ball exactly like a rabbit at the mouth of a hole. A bag
was somehow slipped over his head, and inside it he could neither bite
nor bark. His nose was tightly held and his collar removed.

It seemed ages to Whitefoot before he found himself free again. Then he
wasted no time, but made one bolt for the kitchen door of Ladykirk. It
was open, and he entered all dazed and shaking. He had felt the hands of
men a