Mr. Vernon smiled.
"I thought perhaps you might be so good," he said; and he added casually: "Anybody here who could be trusted to bring them from the station?"
"I know a most trustworthy person; his name is Richard Lorton, and he will go for 'em in a brace of jiffs," said Dick.
Mr. Vernon flicked a five-pound note across the table.
"There may be some carriage. By the way, one of them is a lady's nag, and I fancy they may have sent a sidesaddle."
Dick nodded and repeated the grin.
"I can get them put up at Sandy's," he said. "Sandy used to keep some stables going for post horses before the coach ran to Hartland, you know. I've got your horse there. Oh, they'll be all right. You trust to me."
"I do," said Mr. Vernon. "One moment," as Dick was rushing out to put on his well-worn riding suit. "I don't think I'd say anything about—the sidesaddle to Miss Lorton—yet."
Once again Dick nodded—a nod so full of comprehension as to be almost supernal.
Mr. Vernon went upstairs, and, with Molly's assistance, unpacked the huge portmanteau, and, when she had got out of the room, examined the contents. Strangely enough, the linen was all new and unmarked. Only on the silver fittings of the dressing case were a monogram—in which the initial "S" was decipherable—and a coronet.