“Are you a good horseman, Barnabas?”
“Yes, an excellent rider.”
“And can you disguise yourself well?”
“Yes, colonel, with any one in all England.”
“Do you know, then, where Darlington is?”
“Yes, well.”
“Then, on the instant, disguise yourself as anything you like—say a parson, for that character throws off most suspicion—disguise yourself, I say, and post off to Darlington as fast as horseflesh can carry you.”
“But I have no money.”
“You never have. I never knew a Jew in all my life who would ever confess to have more than sixpence if you wanted to borrow any without interest. Take this,” said Blood, “that will be sufficient for your purpose. If this wench is really on the road, watch her, and see where she goes to. If you do not find her on the road make your way to Darlington, and try to become friendly with her father, the old miller, and let me know from time to time how you get on and all you hear.”
Barnabas left the colonel on the instant, and for a moment Blood appeared to be deeply buried in thought.