ith a horse) the last of those ordered by the captain. I
was then to walk the horse along the Egmont road, till I saw or heard
an open carriage coming behind. Then I was to trot, keeping ahead of the
carriage, but not far from it, till I was past the third tavern. After
that, if I was not recalled by those in the carriage, I was free to
quicken up my pace. I was then to ride straight ahead, till I got to
Egmont, a twenty mile ride to the north. There I was to deliver up my
horse at the Zwolle-Haus inn, before enquiring for M. Stendhal, the
East India merchant. To him I was to give a letter, which for safety was
rolled into a blank cartridge in my little pistol cartridge box. After
that, I was to stay at M. Stendhal's house, keeping out of harm's way,
till I received further orders from my masters.

You may be sure that I thought myself a fine figure of gallantry as I
stepped out with my bottle-basket. I was a King's secret agent. I had
a King's letter hidden about my person. I was armed with fine weapons,
which I longed to be using. I had been under fire for my King's sake.
I was also still tingling with my King's praise. It was a warm, sunny
April day; that was another thing to fill me with gladness. Soon I
should be mounted on a nag, riding out in a strange land, on a secret
mission, with a pocket full of special service money. Whatever I had
felt in the few days of the sea-passage was all forgotten now. I did
not even worry about not knowing the language. It would keep me from
loitering to chatter. My schoolboy French would probably be enough for
all purposes if I vent astray. I was "to avoid chance acquaintances,
particularly if they spoke English." That was my last order. Repeating
it to myself I walked on briskly.

I had not gone more than three hundred yards upon my way, when a lady,
very richly dressed, cantered slowly past me on a fine bay mare. She was
followed by a gentleman in scarlet, riding on a little black Arab. They
had not gone a hundred yards past me when the Arab picked up a stone.
The man dismounted to pick it out, while the lady rode back to hold the
horse, which was a ticklish job, since he was as fresh as a colt. He
went squirming about like an eel. The man had no hook to pick the stone
with; nor could he get it out by his fingers. I could hear him growling
under his breath in some strange language, while the horse sidled about
as wicked as he could be.

As I approached, the horse grew so troub