The two lads walked slowly down the hill together.

Harry had heard no more than Charlie had done, of what was going on.

The messenger from his father was a young fellow, of seventeen or eighteen, with a gipsy face and appearance.

How he had managed to elude the vigilance of the men on watch, Harry did not know.

He, himself, had only learnt his presence when, as he passed some bushes in the garden, a sharp whisper made him stop, and a moment later a hand was thrust through the foliage.