“In the old King’s time,” said he, “I knew this way well.”
I followed him, and we walked, as I should estimate, near two hundred yards along a narrow passage. Then we came to a stout oak door. Sapt unlocked it. We passed through, and found ourselves in a quiet street that ran along the back of the Palace gardens. A man was waiting for us with two horses. One was a magnificent bay, up to any weight; the other a sturdy brown. Sapt signed to me to mount the bay. Without a word to the man, we mounted and rode away. The town was full of noise and merriment, but we took secluded ways. My cloak was wrapped over half my face; the capacious flat cap hid every lock of my tell-tale hair. By Sapt’s directions, I crouched on my saddle, and rode with such a round back as I hope never to exhibit on a horse again. Down a long narrow lane we went, meeting some wanderers and some roisterers; and, as we rode, we heard the Cathedral bells still clanging out their welcome to the King. It was half-past six, and still light. At last we came to the city wall and to a gate.
“Have your weapon ready,” whispered Sapt. “We must stop his mouth, if he talks.”
I put my hand on my revolver. Sapt hailed the doorkeeper. The stars fought for us! A little girl of fourteen tripped out.
“Please, sir, father’s gone to see the King.”
“He’d better have stayed here,” said Sapt to me, grinning.
“But he said I wasn’t to open the gate, sir.”
“Did he, my dear?” said Sapt, dismounting. “Then give me the key.”
The key was in the child’s hand. Sapt gave her a crown.
“Here’s an order from the King. Show it to your father. Orderly, open the gate!”