“That the pass is being closely watched, Tom, by spies, or whatever you choose to call them, from the French army.  The Duke of Savoy is, as I have told you before, completely hemmed in by the armies of the great Vendome, one of the ablest generals France possesses.  His capital is in danger, and it is of the first importance that he should receive the despatches and messages with which I am charged by Marlborough, and which will give him heart and courage to prolong the contest till the promised help, which is now on its way, shall reach him.  Doubtless it is equally the policy of the enemy to keep him in ignorance of what they themselves now know or fear, so that he may surrender to the French arms before he hears what is being done for his succour.

“That, in brief, is the situation we have to grapple with.  I suspect that Sir James is one of those who are watching for messengers from England, and that we shall have to measure our wits against his.  Tom, I must get through the pass.  I must carry my despatches into Turin.  I am not one whit afraid of the French lines.  I can disguise myself, and pass through them if needs be without a qualm of fear.  I can speak French against any Frenchman living, for I was cradled in that land.  But the first problem we have to face is this—­how can we cross the pass unseen?  How can we put the spies on a false scent?”

Tom drew his brows together and scratched his head in the effort to think matters out.

“Do they know that strangers are here in this valley?  Are we watched?”

“I suspect so,” answered Lord Claud.  “It is not easy to be certain, because the people here are friendly to us, and distrust the French, who have given them small cause to love them.  But I am convinced that so astute a man as Sir James Montacute would cause a close watch to be kept upon this valley.  Most likely our presence here is known, and we are being watched for.”

“And is there no other way of crossing the mountains into Italy?”

“Yes, there is one other route; for historians disagree as to the one taken by Hannibal, albeit most believe that it was this of the Little St. Bernard.  There is another way, which doubtless could be found; but if we were to strike aside after it, the spies would be upon our heels at once.”

“I was thinking,” said Tom slowly, “that we might perchance part company, one take one route and the other the other, and so arrange matters that the spies should follow hot-foot upon the scent of the wrong man.”

A gleam came into Lord Claud’s eyes.  He spoke very quietly.

“In truth, Tom, some such thought has come into mine own head; but it is not easy to make up one’s mind to act upon it, for I fear it means certain death to the wrong man who must be followed.”

Tom’s face set itself in grim lines.  There was a vein of reckless bravery and hardihood about him which imparted to the situation a species of stern delight, and sent the blood tingling once more through his veins.