“But it will be losing time,” panted Frank.
“It will be gaining it, my boy. You cannot go through a London mob like that. You are going to ride with soldiers, and you must not look like a page at a levee. Quick!”
“You will wait for me?”
“Of course.”
Frank ran to his rooms, drew on his high horseman’s boots, buckled on his sword, which had been returned to him, and ran back to where Captain Murray was waiting for him with a cloak over his arm.
“No spurs?” he said. “Never mind. You will have a well-trained horse. I have got passes for two, Frank; and, as it happens, I know the officer of the Horse Guards who is in command of the detachment going to meet the escort, so that we can get close up to the prisoners. Let’s see: you do ride?”
“Oh yes; my father taught me long ago, anything—bare-backed often enough.”
“Good. I am glad, boy. It was sorry work going without you. But I know why it was. Walk quickly; no time to lose.”
He hurried his companion to the stables of the Horse Guards, where a couple of the men were waiting, and a horse was ready saddled.
“Quick!” he said to the men. “I shall want the second charger, after all.”