m was a voucher for his
message, to gain his way through. But how could Amos Green, a foreigner
and a civilian, hope to pass? It was impossible, clearly impossible.
And yet, somehow, in spite of the impossibility, he still clung to a
vague hope that a man so full of energy and resource might find some way
out of the difficulty.

And then the thought of escape occurred to his mind. Might he not even
now be in time, perhaps, to carry his own message? Who were these men
who had seized him? They had said nothing to give him a hint as to
whose tools they were. Monsieur and the dauphin occurred to his mind.
Probably one or the other. He had only recognised one of them, old
Major Despard, a man who frequented the low wine-shops of Versailles,
and whose sword was ever at the disposal of the longest purse.
And where were these people taking him to? It might be to his death.
But if they wished to do away with him, why should they have brought him
back to consciousness? and why this carriage and drive? Full of
curiosity, he peered out of the windows.

A horseman was riding close up on either side; but there was glass in
front of the carriage, and through this he could gain some idea as to
his whereabouts. The clouds had cleared now, and the moon was shining
brightly, bathing the whole wide landscape in its shimmering light.
To the right lay the open country, broad plains with clumps of woodland,
and the towers of castles pricking out from above the groves. A heavy
bell was ringing in some monastery, and its dull booming came and went
with the breeze. On the left, but far away, lay the glimmer of Paris.
They were leaving it rapidly behind. Whatever his destination, it was
neither the capital nor Versailles. Then he began to count the chances
of escape. His sword had been removed, and his pistols were still in the
holsters beside his unfortunate horse. He was unarmed, then, even if he
could free himself, and his captors were at least a dozen in number.
There were three on ahead, riding abreast along the white, moonlit road.
Then there was one on each side, and he should judge by the clatter of
hoofs that there could not be fewer than half a dozen behind. That would
make exactly twelve, including the coachman, too many, surely, for an
unarmed man to hope to baffle. At the thought of the coachman he had
glanced through the glass front at the broad back of the man, and he had
suddenly, in the glimmer of the carriage la