At last he struck into a narrow pathway leading north-west. Proceeding more rapidly along this, he was brought, after walking for some four hours, into what was apparently the highroad along which he had passed with Marlborough’s letter about ten days earlier. He was very tired, but resolved to press on until he reached a village. Another hour’s walk brought him to a hamlet with a modest Gasthaus. He knocked up the landlord, and with some difficulty persuaded the suspicious man to provide him with a horse. No troops, he learnt, had passed through. The landlord had been told that firing had been heard among the hills in the direction of Rauhstein; he did not understand what it could be, for the castle was in the possession of brigands, and he did not think the prince’s men were near enough. Staying at the inn but to eat a little food, Fanshawe rode on, and suddenly, some little while before dawn, came on a picket of four men upon the road. He was challenged; the speaker was evidently a German, and of German Fanshawe knew not enough to frame a sentence. He tried French; but that raised the sergeant’s suspicions; he mentioned the names of Marlborough and Prince Eugene, with no better success; and he was marched off under guard into the neighbouring village. His escort halted at a small cottage, and the sergeant entered. Colonel von Stickstoff was in bed. He was awakened, but the colonel was nothing if not a stickler for etiquette, and he declined to see Fanshawe until he had made some preparations. When Fanshawe was marched in, therefore, he found himself confronted by a short, stout, pompous little officer, with his tunic buttoned tight, a rug across his knees, which were guiltless of breeches, and a large flaxen wig set awry over his nightcap. The quarter-master was summoned, and an interrogation began. "Who are you, sir, and what have you to say for yourself?" asked the officer in German. Fanshawe tried to explain in French, of which he had obtained a smattering. "Ha! You are a Frenchman! Take that down, quartermaster. Everything must be done in order." This was somewhat embarrassing. Fanshawe might understand the German’s French, but he must necessarily be ignorant of what was said to the quarter-master in German. "I am an officer in my lord Marlborough’s army," he said haltingly. "Take that down, quarter-master. A Frenchman in Lord Marlborough’s army. In what regiment, Monsieur?" "In Schomberg’s Horse." "Take that down. Now, Monsieur, explain to me how it is that you, a Frenchman in Lord Marlborough’s army, are here, ten miles from his camp at Gros Heppach." This was good and unexpected news. Fanshawe at once proceeded to make it clear that he was an Englishman, then explained in as few words as possible whence he had come and the urgency of his mission. "Take that down," said the colonel, translating to the quarter-master. The man wrote slowly, and Fanshawe was growing more and more restive.