The early sunrise roused them up to repeat and re-repeat all that had befallen in the months of their separation, a subject which lasted them through breakfast till they quitted the table and went down to the inn yard. “Why, Herbert Bellasis has taken himself and his people hence,” Hugh cried, after one glance into the vacant stable.
“I respect wisdom in any man,” Strangwayes commented, as he loitered at Hugh’s side in among the stalls. “You say the Prince said something to you about not fighting any more? Tut, tut! ’Tis a pity.” There he broke off suddenly, “Why, lad, how came old Bayard back to you?”
“Why should you ask?” Hugh replied wisely. “If you don’t know, I don’t.”
“I’d take it kindly if you’d talk reason,” Strangwayes said pathetically. “What have I to do with your horse? I don’t know even who bought the beast, or whither he was taken from Oxford.”
Hugh whistled a stave. “It must ha’ been the same who sent me the two sovereign from Tamworth. Maybe ’twas Sir William, or perhaps Captain Turner.”
“Or perhaps Captain Gwyeth,” Dick said, after an instant.
Hugh stared blankly a moment, then stamped his foot down on the stable floor. “I won’t believe it,” he cried fiercely. “I tell you, I’d fling away the money and turn the horse loose, if I believed it.”
“Captain Gwyeth had a hand in that first movement to gain your pardon,” Strangwayes spoke impartially.
“He was only Sir William’s instrument,” Hugh insisted, and, without staying to caress the horse, strode out of the stable.
Strangwayes followed in silence; indeed, that instant’s jar ended conversation between them till they were back in their chamber, and Dick was busied in writing the news of his whereabouts and the outcome of the Bellasis affair to Sir William. “What use?” urged Hugh, wearied of gazing out of the window with no one to talk to. “We’ll be at Tamworth soon.”