eathe the air in
that big passage. But the steps were so horribly polished with wax that
I went down from top to bottom."

"Oh!" said Waller. "Then I suppose you don't know that you frightened
one of our maids."

"Did I? I think I did hear somebody shriek."

"You did; and if you do things like that again, all will be found out.
I shall get into terrible trouble, and you will be caught, and you know
what that means."

"Yes," said Godfrey sadly; "I know what that means."

"Well, then, I don't mean to trust you any more," said Waller, "and I
shall keep that door locked until I feel it's safe. As soon as I can
get you out, we will go off into the woods. I only hope our maid won't
talk about it, but I am afraid she will."

There was cause for Waller's fear, for the very next day Bella told the
gardener all about her alarm, and that night when he went down to the
village shop, Joe Hanson made a small audience of the village people
open their eyes widely, stare, and feel, as they told one another, a
curious creepy sensation right down their backs.

One of the gardener's audience was Tony Gusset, a man who did not work
much at shoe-making or mending, but when he did he thought a great deal,
and after this occasion he mused much over what Bella had heard. Then
he put that and that together, and thought of a certain reward of a
hundred pounds for the taking, dead or alive, of any one of the French
spies who had sought refuge in the forest; and that reward haunted the
village constable and kept him awake all night.

The next day, too, Bella's, fright was food for reflection, and he mixed
up with it the appearance of certain soldiers who had been billeted in
the next village.

Tony Gusset thought very slowly, and he reasoned a good deal as well,
and it resulted in his asking himself this question: If a man knew where
the spies were and showed them to the soldiers, how much would he get,
and how much would the soldiers want for their share?

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

WEARY OF HIDING.

"If he sees me going up and down like this he'll tell me I look like a
wild beast in a cage, and he'll be quite right; I do. I feel like one.
There are moments when it seems as if I can't bear it. All this dreary
wait, wait, wait; all this longing to be out in the fresh air, free. It
makes my head throb, and when he comes I could quarrel with him and
fight, good chap as he is, so anxious to help me. And then there are
the things he