Bell was right, for, when, at the end of another quarter of an hour, they cantered into the little post town, there was a light still burning in a lantern in the inn yard, and an ostler proved to be a little more communicative.
Yes, a post-chaise—a yellow one—came in half an hour ago, and changed horses and went on. Their horses were all in a muck sweat, and here was one of the boys.
A postboy came out of the tap, and stood staring.
He knew nothing, he said, only that he and his mate had brought a party from Saltinville.
“A lady and gentleman?” said Linnell sharply.
“I d’know,” said the postboy. “I didn’t ride the wheeler; I was on one of the leaders.”
“But you must have seen?” cried Linnell angrily.
“No; I didn’t see nothing. I’d enough to do to look after my horses. Bad road and precious hilly ’bout here, sir.”
“Come along,” cried Linnell angrily.
“Walk your horses for a few minutes,” said Mellersh quietly; and as Linnell and Bell went on he dismounted and thrust his hand into his pocket. “Just tighten these girths for me a little, will you, my man?” he said, turning to the postboy, and slipping a guinea into his hand.