In less than three minutes, the four masked men had secured and bore away Ellen Harmer without alarming the household.
Colonel Blood’s quick ears could hear the distant rumbling of heavy wheels, and he felt satisfied that his men had done their work cleverly and completely.
“But what is your business with me, colonel?” asked Sir Richard.
“There has been a dreadful commotion to-night. Phillip Redgill, I hear, is killed.”
“Killed!—how?—by whom?”
“Yes, killed, I understand, in a brawl or a fight, or a duel, or something of that sort, by young Ned Warbeck.”
“Impossible!”
“Nay, ’tis too true, Sir Richard; the information only just reached me, and I thought it was my bounden duty to inform you.”
“Thanks, colonel; but how could this have come to pass? I cannot understand it. I know that Phillip Redgill’s character of late has been bad, very bad indeed, but I never thought it would have come to this. Killed by Ned Warbeck, too—shocking, sir, shocking. I always thought that something of this sort would happen, for they hated each other since boyhood. But in what manner did all this happen, colonel? Let me hear the particulars.”
Colonel Blood was about to tell him all he knew, when a great row took place in the house, which stopped the conversation.