Nor had this same fire happened very long since, for under the eaves white-faced hornets were still hard at work repairing their partly scorched nest. And I silently pointed them out to Lieutenant Boyd.

“Also,” he nodded, “I can still smell the smoky wood. The damage is fresh enough. Look at your map.”

He pushed his horse straight up to the closed door, continuing to examine the dismantled sign which hung motionless, there being no wind stirring.

“This should be Hays’s Tavern,” he said, “unless they lied to us at Ossining. Can you make anything of the sign, Mr. Loskiel?”

“Nothing, sir. But we are on the highway to Poundridge, for behind us lies the North Castle