But it was dawn before she could sleep. She lay calculating the time that it would take to get fresh warrants, and her conclusion was, "If Stephen have the least bit of good fortune, he will be out of danger, before they know in London that their lying warrants are beyond looking after. And I am glad I have done Mason and Blythe a good turn. At dawn I will send them a message they will understand. Oh, indeed, Mr. Cromwell, if you can spy, others can spy also!" She was a little troubled when she thought of her aunt and Anthony Lynn. "But, Lord!" she said audibly, "it is not time yet to face the question; I shall be ready for it when it comes." She did not anticipate this trial for some days. "They will begin to wonder in two days what the sheriff has done in the matter; in three days they may write to ask; about the fifth day he may let them know he never got the warrants; then there will be new warrants to make out, and to send, and all this net spread in the sight of the birds, and the birds flown. In all conscience, I may take my ease for one clear week—then—perhaps I may be in London. I will consider of it." Her plan had, however, been too hastily formed and carried out to admit of a thorough consideration, and in her hurry of rifling the mail, it had not occurred to her that one of those small, unimportant-looking letters might also be for the sheriff. This in fact was the case. When daylight brought rescue to the bound carrier, the rejected letters were gathered up, and one of them was a letter of instructions regarding the three warrants to be served. It directed the sheriff to take Mason and Blythe to Ely for trial, but to bring Stephen de Wick to the Tower of London. Now the overtopping desire and ambition of Sheriff Brownley’s heart was to visit London officially; and this shameful theft had at least put a stay on the golden opportunity of going there with a prisoner of such high rank and high crimes as Stephen de Wick. He was in a passion of disappointment, and hastily securing a warrant to arrest Stephen de Wick for mail robbery, he went to de Wick to serve it. For no one had a doubt as to the culprit. The mail-rider swore positively that it was Stephen de Wick. "He minced and mouthed his words," he said, "but I knew his face and figure, and also the scarlet beaver with the white plumes with which he joys to affront the decent men and women of Ely; yes, and his doublet, I saw its white slashings and white cords and tassels. Till I die, I will swear it was Stephen de Wick; he, and no other, except Yupon Slade, or I am not knowing Slade’s way with horses. He whispered a word to my beast, and the creature planted his forefeet like a rock; no one but Yupon or his gypsy kin can do that. And Slade has been seen often with de Wick; moreover, he has work in Anthony Lynn’s stables—and as for Anthony Lynn God only knows the colour of his thoughts."