The two stood in silence until the sound of a door closing came from the farther end of the house.

'You have the same dread,' said Marion heavily. 'I can see it. I had hoped perhaps 'twas my nervous fancy that, like a colt, shies at every stone in the path.'

She sat down on the low window seat.

'He bears a letter,' said Simone suddenly.

'And 'tis not in his pocket, or he would have slapped it bravely. 'Tis in his saddlebags.'

'In the stable, Mademoiselle?'

'In the harness room, I expect, next to the stable. I noted the place when we were waiting.'

Marion buried her face in her hands. A silence fell on the little chamber. The sound of laughter and voices rose from the room below.

'Mademoiselle,' presently came Simone's whisper, 'this is unbearable. Perhaps we are both mistaken. Our thoughts naturally go the same way. If you saw the letter, you would know. Let me find it for you.'

'No,' said Marion firmly, lifting her head. 'No hand is laid to such an action but my own. I take myself whatever risk may befall. And if I do it, I must do it at once, before the light fails—and before delay makes a coward of me. I had already thought of it. 'Twould appear easy enough; the men abroad, the servant girls in bed. And if I am discovered, I must be looking at Jennifer's knees.'

'Mademoiselle,' ventured Simone, 'you must be ready, you know. The letter will doubtless be sealed. I have heard that a hot knife, run under the seal, will ease it without breaking it. You will find a knife in the kitchen, and the logs are alight. I saw the glow from the passage.'

Marion shivered slightly. ''Tis a foul thing that I set myself to do, but I must know. I must know. Quick, Simone! Take off my shoes. Stockings make no sound.'

A minute later Marion crept stealthily downstairs. Mine host and the traveller were talking over their wine, their heads dark against the sunset light which fell slanting through the latticed window.

From the crack of the door, as she stole by, Marion caught a glimpse of the two figures, the smoke rising from their pipes. How long would they stay thus?

Noiselessly she crept along the passage in the direction whence she had seen the servant girl come with dishes for supper. A glow from some interior warmth lay across the passage stones, the same light that Simone had noted. With a quick backward glance Marion turned in at the open kitchen door.

A fire of logs burned in the huge chimney place, casting gleams on the brass cooking utensils hanging on the chimney breast. On the table stood various dishes and jugs. Rapidly Marion looked about for a knife. Would she, she thought with a sudden tremor, be obliged to open a drawer? Neither on the dresser nor on the table was a knife to be seen.

She tiptoed across the room to an open door. Beyond lay the inn yard and the stables. The exit was clear. So far so good; but the knife?

Another door just on the latch stood in the opposite wall. Peeping in, Marion saw the place she sought: the 'wash-up.' A pile of knives and forks stood on a side bench, clean from supper, but evidently awaiting scouring. Hastily she selected the one with the slenderest blade.

As she turned to go back into the kitchen, her foot caught in the slanting leg of a rough stool just inside the little room. It jerked on the stones. Marion stood still, her heart thumping so loudly that she felt that the men whose voices came dimly down the passage must be hearing its beat where they sat. Something moved overhead. In an agony of fear Marion waited. Should she get out of the kitchen at once before those steps came downstairs? Better anything than be caught indoors in this fashion. For close on a minute she stood, the throbbing pulse in her brow measuring out the seconds.

The sounds did not recur. She crept towards the fireplace. With her ears straining for any sound she plunged the knife into the glowing embers, and took her handkerchief to protect her hand from any heat which the handle might catch. Not until the blade was red did she allow herself to withdraw the knife.

Hastily she darted out at the open kitchen door. A second later she was in the harness room. At the doorway she turned and peeped up at the house. From the small window of an upper chamber came the gleam of candle light: the bedroom of the inn-keeper's wife, she guessed.

With the rapidly cooling knife in one hand Marion cast an experienced eye on the saddles, bridles and general gear hangi............