"I broke his neck. Did you not
hear it go?"
"Yes--I heard it. But what was he doing here?"
"That is yet to be found out," was the reply, in a sharp, strained
voice. "This is Cartoner's work."
"I doubt it," whispered Martin. And yet in his heart he could scarcely
doubt it at that moment. Nothing was further from his recollection than
the note he had given to Netty in the Saski Gardens ten hours ago.
"What does it mean?" he asked, with a sudden despair in his voice. He
had always been lucky and successful.
"It means," answered the man who had never been either, "that the
place is surrounded, of course. They have got the arms, and we have
failed--this time. Take the horses back towards the barracks--and wait
for me where the water is across the road. I will go forward on foot and
make sure. If I do not return in twenty minutes it will mean that they
have taken me."
As he spoke he took off his white overcoat, which was all gray and
bespattered with mud, and threw it across the saddle. His working
clothes were sombre and dirty. He was almost invisible in the darkness.
"Wait a moment," he said. "I will get over the wall here. Bring your
horse against the wall."
Martin did so, avoiding the body of the sentry, which lay stretched
across the foot-path.
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