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And then, passing from English to French, from visions of Lindsey and Rupert and the pursuit at Edgehill to memories of Conde and Turenne, he shouted with the voice that was like the sound of a trumpet, "Boutte-selle! boutte-selle! Monte a cheval! monte a cheval! a l'arme, a l'arme!" He was in the field of battle again.
There was a wise man, too, of their faith, who lived in the wild hills not far from the city, and they were wont to go to him for advice if they needed it. They said also that the king of Lindsey had once been a Christian, for he was Welsh by birth on his mother's side, and had been so brought up.
She was away early that morning; she took a train south from Beal station before breakfast at least, a veiled woman answering her description did, and she's safe hidden in London, or elsewhere, by now, my lad!" "But him the man Sir Gilbert, or whoever he is?" I whispered. "What of him, Mr. Lindsey?" "Aye, just so!" he said. "I'm gradually piecing it together, as we go on.
They now broke; Sir Edward Varner was slain, and the standard which he bore was taken; the earl of Lindsey received a mortal wound; and his son, the lord Willoughby, was made prisoner in the attempt to rescue his father . Charles, who, attended by his troop of pensioners, watched the fortune of the field, beheld with dismay the slaughter of his guards;
Remarking that they could not have named a worse place, the King rose, was allowed to summon the Earl of Lindsey and all the rest of his household, and had breakfast.
"You've got the idea into your head now that this young man's father, whom he's always heard of as one Martin Smeaton, was in strict truth the late Michael Carstairs, elder son of the late Sir Alexander in fact, being the wilful and headstrong man that you are, you're already positive of it?" "I am so!" declared Mr. Lindsey. "That's a fact, Portlethorpe." "Then what follows?" asked Mr.
"Not while yon man's alive!" she answered. "And I'd have far rather stayed with you till it's daylight, anyway." However, she let me put her into the car; and when I had charged the policeman who went with her not to take his eyes off her until she was safe in Andrew Dunlop's house, they went off, and Mr. Lindsey and I turned up the stair again.
"Come, out with it." "I'll not deny that, neither, your honour," admitted the woman. "He was clever at that too." "Well, now, about that night when he was supposed to be killed," continued Mr. Lindsey; "that's Tuesday last this being Thursday. Did he ever come home that evening from his shop?"
"I believe every word that man said!" he murmured. "Come on, now we'll see this Nance Maguire." I was a good deal surprised that Mr. Lindsey should be apparently so anxious to interview Crone's housekeeper, and I said as much. He turned on me sharply, with a knowing look. "Didn't you hear what the woman was saying when we came across her there outside the police-station?" he exclaimed.
Lindsey, turned away as meekly as a lamb, and went off, tearful enough, but quiet, down the street, followed by half the rabble, while Mr. Lindsey, Chisholm, and myself turned into the police-station. And there we met Mr. Murray, who wagged his head at us as if he were very well satisfied with something. "Not much doubt about this last affair, anyhow," said he, as he took us into his office.
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