trouble you to answer, for I know well
enough my information's right. All you need do is just to hand over to
me the packet you're taking to Mr. Walter Moncrief. I'll take care of
it."

The stranger's information was only too accurate; Paul marvelled at its
accuracy; but nevertheless Mr. Moncrief's words, "I feel that I can
trust you. You will not part with the letter, whatever happens," came to
him, and he determined not to give up the packet without a struggle.

"You're not deaf as well as tongue-tied--eh? Quick! quick! hand over
the packet," came the imperious voice of the stranger.

Paul saw that he was in a desperate situation--one from which it would
only be possible to extricate himself by strategy. He put his hand to
the inner pocket where the packet lay, and drew it a little way from his
pocket. This movement disarmed the man who held the bridle. He slackened
his hold. As he did so Paul brought down his riding-whip--or, rather,
Mr. Moncrief's riding-whip--sharply on the other man's face.

With a cry of mingled rage and pain the man dropped the bridle.

"Good Falcon--good. Now!" cried Paul, urging the horse forward.

The second man made a lunge at the horse. Falcon, as though fully alive
to the need of getting away, bounded forward like a dart along the road.
It went forward at a breakneck speed, quivering in every limb, as though
feverishly anxious to place as great a distance as possible between Paul
and his pursuers.

"Thank God, thank God!" Paul murmured, overjoyed at their escape. "What
a noble horse it is. That man is a foreigner, I'm sure of it--one who
would stop at nothing to gain his ends. Who is he, I wonder?"

If Paul had only known! But all was dark to him, as dark as the road
along which he was speeding. Only one thing was clear--that these men
were the enemies of Mr. Moncrief; that they were anxious to get from him
the packet of which he was the bearer. More and more Paul wondered what
could be the meaning of it all--what could be the meaning of the curious
hieroglyphics in his pocket.

But suddenly, just as he was congratulating himself on the distance he
had placed between himself and his pursuers, Falcon slackened speed, and
began to breathe hard. What was the meaning of it? Had an accident
befallen him, or had he grown weary? Paul knew enough of the animal to
know that it would not readily slacken speed through weariness. Falcon
was one of those sterling animals who would take every i