“After him!” shouted De Lacy; and leaving Dauvrey to guard the other prisoner, he and the patrol sped in pursuit.  The squire had acted so quickly that he had obtained a lead of at least a hunted feet and Aymer labored strenuously to overtake him.  Being totally ignorant of the country, he could rely only on sight to indicate the course; whereas the other evidently was familiar with the by-paths, and once the first was reached would likely, in the uncertain light, be able to elude him.  He swore at himself heartily for his carelessness, and with anger growing hotter at every jump he drew his sword, resolved that there would be no second escape if, when he got within reach, his order to halt were not instantly obeyed.  Yet, strive as he might, Selim could not, in that short distance, come up with the big bay ahead; and as the squire entered the heavier timber, he looked back and laughed mockingly.  But this act of foolish defiance worked his destruction; for at that very instant, his horse stumbled and plunged forward on his knees, and he, having loosed his thigh grip in turning, was hurled headlong to the ground and rolled over and over by the impetus.

“We will see that you play us no more such tricks,” said Aymer.  “Bind him with your sword belt.”

The patrol bent over and tried to put the strap around the man’s arms.  The body was limp in his grasp.

“He is unconscious, my lord,” he said.

“It may be a sham,” said De Lacy, dismounting. . .  “Pasque Dieu! your belt will not be needed.  The man is dead:  his neck is broken. . .  It is a graceless thing to do, yet . . .  Here, my man, help me carry the body out into the moonlight yonder . . . now, search it for a letter—­for a letter, mark you, nothing else.”

Kneeling beside it, the soldier did as he was bid, and presently drew forth a bit of parchment.  It was without superscription and De Lacy broke the wax.

“As I thought,” he muttered, as his eyes fell upon the signature; then, letting the moonlight fall full upon the page, he read: 

“Vaughan: 

“Buckingham joined Gloucester this evening.  Grey and I are prisoners in the inn.  Send Edward on to London instantly with Croft.  If necessary, use force to keep the King, and then mark well the Dukes.  I may not write more; time is precious.  I trust in your discretion.

“Rivers.”

“It will go ill with the Earl when Richard sees these words,” thought De Lacy, as he mounted and returned to the road, where Dauvrey was patiently standing guard over the other prisoner.

“Come, Giles,” he said, “secure his bridle rein.  We will drop him at the next guard post, and in the morning he can return and bury the squire.”

There was the faintest blush of dawn in the eastern sky as De Lacy and Dauvrey crossed the Nene and re-entered Northampton.  At the inn all was quiet, and Aymer ascended quickly to Gloucester’s room.  The Duke was lying on the bed, fully dressed, and the gown that Catesby had placed ready to his hand had not been touched.  He greeted the young Knight with a smile and without rising.