Page:The Black Moth.pdf/26

 My lord made his leg, and watched the heavy vehicle move forward and roll away down the street. Then with a stifled sigh he turned and walked towards the stables. His servant saw him coming and went at once to meet him.

“The mare, sir?”

“As you say, Jim—the mare. In an hour.”

He turned and would have strolled back.

“Sir—your honour!”

He paused, looking over his shoulder.

“Well?”

“They’re on the look-out, sir. Best be careful.”

“They always are, Jim. But thanks.”

“Ye—ye wouldn’t take me with ye, sir?” pleadingly.

“Take you? Faith, no! I’ve no mind to lead you into danger. And you serve me best by remaining to carry out my orders.”

The man fell back.

“Ay, sir; but—but”

“There are none, Jim.”

“No, sir—but ye will have a care?”

“I will be the most cautious of men.” He walked away on the word, and passed into the house.

In an hour he was a very different being. Gone was the emerald ring, the foppish cane; the languid air, too, had disappeared, leaving him brisk and businesslike. He was dressed for riding, with buff coat and buckskin breeches, and shining top boots. A sober brown wig replaced the powdered creation, and a black tricorne was set rakishly atop.

He stood in the deserted porch, watching Jim strap his baggage to the saddle, occasionally giving a curt direction. Presently Mr. Chadber appeared with the stirrup-cup, which he drained and handed back with a word of thanks and a guinea at the bottom.

Someone called lustily from within, and the landlord, bowing very low, murmured apologies and vanished.