At the first four or five places he visited, the answer was that no such party had arrived; then, seeing one of the civic guards, he asked him if he had seen or heard of a troop of men passing through the town.

“Such a troop arrived an hour ago, Monsieur l’officier.  They stopped, as they passed me, and asked if Monsieur le Baron Pointdexter, accompanied by a carriage and some servants, had passed through the town.  They put up at the Soleil, and I should think that they are there now, for they had evidently made a long journey, and their horses were too worn out to go farther.”

Delighted at the unexpected news, Desmond hurried to the inn.  It was a second-class establishment, and evidently frequented by market people, as there were large stables attached to it.  The landlord was standing at the door.  He bowed profoundly, for it was seldom that guests of quality visited the inn.

“What can I do for monsieur?” he enquired.

“You have a party of travellers, who arrived an hour ago.  I have business with them.”

“You will find them in this room, monsieur,” the landlord said, opening a door.

There were some twelve men inside.  The remains of a repast were on the table.  Some of the men were still sitting there, others were already asleep on benches.  One, who was evidently their leader, was walking up and down the room impatiently.  He looked up in surprise when Desmond entered.

“You are the intendant of Monsieur de la Vallee, are you not?”

“I am, sir,” the man said, still more surprised.

“I am a friend of your master.  We have been expecting to meet you, for the past four or five days.  He was travelling south with the Baron de Pointdexter and his daughter.  We were attacked, this afternoon, on the other side of Moulins.  The baron and his daughter were, I believe, carried off; the servants all killed.  I saw your master fall, but whether mortally wounded or not I cannot say.

“I and my servant cut our way through the assailants, who were led by the Vicomte de Tulle, who had before carried off Mademoiselle de Pointdexter.  I was on my way south to la Vallee, with but faint hope of meeting you on the road.”

“This is bad news indeed, sir,” the intendant said.  “I trust that my master is not killed, for we all loved him.  As to Mademoiselle Pointdexter, it was an understood thing that she, one day, would be our mistress.

“It is not our fault that we are so late.  Our master’s messenger was attacked, near Nevers, and was left for dead on the road.  The letter he bore, and his purse, were taken from him.  The night air caused his wounds to stop bleeding, and he managed to crawl to Moulins.  Having no money, he was unable to hire a horse, and indeed could not have sat one.  He went to an inn frequented by market people, and there succeeded in convincing an honest peasant, who had come in with a cart of faggots, that his story was a true one, and promised him large pay on his arrival at la Vallee.