The dressing-bell rang out and we hurried off to our rooms, for Dr. Randall, easy-going enough in some things, was strictness itself with regard to our punctuality at dinner-time. But no sooner had I seen de Cartienne safely in his room than I softly made my way downstairs again and crossed the yard to the stables.
It was as I had expected. The stall in which de Cartienne kept his mare was carefully closed, but through the chinks I could see that a lamp was burning inside.
I tried the door softly, but it was locked. Then I knocked. There was no answer. Turning away, I entered the next stall and, mounting a step-ladder, looked over the partition.
I saw very much what I had expected to see—de Cartienne’s thoroughbred mare splashed all over with mud and still trembling with nervous fatigue, and by her side Dick, the stable-boy, holding a wet sponge in his hand and looking up at me with a scared, disconsolate expression.
“Oh, it be you, be it, Muster Morton?” he exclaimed rather sullenly.
I looked down at Diana.
“How came she in that exhausted condition?” I asked. “And why have you locked the door?”
Dick hesitated, and I tossed him a half-crown.
“The truth now, Dick,” I said. “And I won’t let Mr. de Cartienne know that I’ve seen her.”
He brightened up at once and pocketed the half-crown.