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They made fair going until they reached the forked roads in Watling Wood, but there they were delayed for a little by a curious incident. A lanky man in a battered bowler planted himself in the middle of the road and asked where they were going.

'To Woodbridge,' said Kenyon promptly.

'Then you have our permission to proceed,' replied the queer individual.

'Oh? Oh, thanks!' Kenyon murmured with some surprise.

'Don't er mention it to the Cardinal,' added the other.

'What?' inquired Ann.

'I find him a little difficult, you know,' the stranger waved his cane gaily and then leaned forward in a confidential attitude. 'He is a little puffed up with the success of our Army at La Rochelle.'

'I quite understand,' agreed Kenyon with a soothing note in his voice. 'It must be very difficult for you.'

'True true, but not for nothing are we called Louis the Just, and the Bishop of Lucon has proved his worth.'

'I am certain that he appreciates the confidence of his master,' declared Kenyon, for after such a day he could not resist the temptation to indulge his humour with this curious acquaintance.

'You are a person of understanding,' was the quick response. 'What a pity that you are not noble. If you were we would nominate you for the Order of the Golden Fleece. Our brother of Spain has just sent us a couple.'

'Fortunately,' said Kenyon, 'I happen to possess the necessary quarterings.'

'In that case we must certainly think of you, but can we persuade the Cardinal? That's the thing. De Richelieu is always after these windfalls for his own cronies and he's so devilish plausible. We have hardly been able to call our soul our own since that terrible trouble with poor Cinq Mars.'

'Yes, that was a dreadful business,' Kenyon shook his head, 'but with your gracious permission we must proceed.'

'Of course, of course. We too must ride on. La Villette tells us that he has raised a fine stag in the forest of St. Ger mains, and as the Cardinal will not be back until tomorrow evening you understand.'

Kenyon politely raised his hat, and setting the battered bowler more firmly on his head, that strange wraith of a vanished sovereignty disappeared into the lengthening shadows of the Suffolk lane.

'Poor sweet,' said Ann. 'Who did he think he was, dearest?'

Louis XIII of France, I imagine, though God knows why!'

'Stark staring mad, of course.'

'Yes, these troubles must have sent him off his head, unless he is from the Ipswich Asylum. When they could no longer feed them they probably turned the inmates loose.'

'How ghastly.'

'I know, but let's not talk of it. There'll be a good dinner, and everyone so pleased to see you when we get to Shingle Street; I only wish the light would last a little longer though.'

Already the sun had set behind the trees, but the afterglow lit their way as they pushed on to Chillesford, where Ann suggested that they could save a mile by turning off down the track through the marshes, which would bring them out at Butley Priory.

By the time they reached the road again dusk had fallen, and now made bold by the coming darkness the human wolves who infested the countryside began to leave the hiding places where they had lurked during the day. Some accosted Kenyon, whose progress with Ann behind him on the bicycle was slow, casting envious glances at her suitcase, suspicious that it might contain food, but he warned them off with a flourish of his pistol. Others slunk quickly back into the hedges on their approach, fearful that Kenyon, with his superior physique, might have a mind to prey on them.

The cottages that they passed were either dark or deserted or, if inhabited, showed it only by chinks of faint light through heavily boarded windows behind which the owners lived a state of siege, yet in the second hour of their journey the road was rarely free of sinister moving shadows.

Only Horsley Heath now remained to be passed before they reached the friendly Labour Colony, and another half hour should see them home, but night had fully fallen, and when Kenyon was forced to dismount at a rise in the road both were filled with apprehension. Somehow the lonely stretch of common land seemed so much more likely to hold hidden danger than the friendly hedgerows which they had left behind, and it was easy to imagine every bush to be a crouching enemy.

Strange, whining voices came out of the darkness every now and then, and once the sounds of a violent quarrel. Ann's arm was through Kenyon's and her hand clasped his as they trudged up the hill, yet at each unaccustomed sound from behind the gorse on either side she shrank nearer to him in sudden fear and, as he caught the note of soft padding footsteps in their rear, he urged her faster towards the hill top, suddenly apprehensive that they were being followed.

'Who goes there?' A sharp voice cried as they breasted the rise.

'Friend!' said Kenyon, automatically.

'You come here, then,' said the voice.

Kenyon drew his weapon and, passing the push bike to Ann, stepped a few paces forward. Three men advanced out of the darkness to meet him.

'Where be ye a goen' to?' asked the man who had challenged.

'Hollesley,' declared Kenyon.

'Oh! then just you come and see the boss.'

Ann made ready to run for it and Kenyon moved a little nearer to her, but the following footsteps had stopped, and turning they saw two other men waiting silently behind them.

'Look here!' Kenyon protested.

'Now then,' countered the first man, 'you be a goen' to have a word with the boss; come on now!'

For a moment Kenyon was tempted to shoot the fellow where he stood, but four others were near enough to rush him and one of them gripped Ann by the arm. 'Take your hands off,' he said sharply.

'All right all right,' the offender protested. I ain't a goen' to do no harm.'

Four more men joined the group and Kenyon felt that it would be a risky business to start a fight now that they were surrounded. He might shoot a couple but how could he protect Ann in the melee better be tactful and after having been searched for food they would probably be allowed to proceed. 'As you like,' he agreed with a shrug, 'but it's late and I'm in a hurry.'

Foller me,' the man who had first challenged them turned on his heel and led them through a small coppice and out onto the open heath while the last four arrivals followed.

'Cattermole,' called the leader as he halted on the lip of a shallow dell, 'do you want to have a look at two folk a goen' to Hollesley?'

And Kenyon, peering over his shoulder, saw that two hundred or more men and women were seated in the hollow, their faces shadowed or illuminated alternately by the flickering flames of a small bonfire. From what little he could see he judged them to be agriculturists, farm labourers and the like, accompanied by their women. Then a tall man in gaiters and a yellow waistcoat came up the slope towards them.

After a sharp glance he nodded to his lieutenant. 'Bring them down to the fire, Rush, we'll see 'em better there,' and, the men behind closing in, they were hustled forward into the dip.

The ragged people crouching round the blaze regarded them with scant interest, most of them were busy on a meal of roots and vegetables which they were eating with their fingers from still steaming pots.

Kenyon was questioned by Cattermole who seemed to distrust his well fed appearance, but was obviously only out to secure further supplies of food, and after Ann's suitcase had been searched it looked as if they would be allowed to go on their way again, until Rush suggested to his leader: 'Better keep 'em with we till by and by, hadn't us? Or they might let on to what's up '

Even then it is probable that no harm would have befallen them if a stout red faced man had not glanced at Kenyon curiously as he stumbled past them to the fire.