The night air was chill, my clothes still damp from the river, and besides it might help later on.

As I did this a rider came flying up the road, bending low over his pommel.

He went past at a slashing gallop, his face showing an instant in the red glare of the flame.

That, no doubt, would be the aide with the despatches, yet, in spite of his haste, he would have to wait to the end of the hour for Billie.

One or two of the men came lazily to the front of the shop to watch him go by, and I crouched down behind the rain-barrel until they went back again.