"Describe his horse," said Dykes impatiently.
"Brown—switch tail—standing about fourteen hands——"
"Nonsense!" ejaculated the second postillion, interrupting his companion who had volunteered the explanation. "It was a light bay—the moon fell full upon it—so did the carriage-lights."
"Come, I see we are only losing time," cried the officer. "Which way did he go?"
"He galloped off in this direction," was the reply, which remained uncontradicted.
"Then he'll be in London to-night, whichever road he took," said Mr. Dykes. "If your ladies will give me a cast as far as town, I'll be after the villain. Perhaps he turned off to the left towards Hatton, and so over by Hanwell and then Shepherd's Bush; or else he made straight for Richmond, and so over into Surrey. But, one way or another, he's sure to be in London by midnight; and ten to one if I don't pounce on him. My business is done down here; and I may just as well toddle back to-night as to-morrow morning."
The substance of these remarks was communicated to Lady Hatfield, who could not well do otherwise than accord a seat on the box to Mr. Dykes, Charlotte, the lady's-maid, removing to the interior of the carriage.
These arrangements having been effected, the vehicle pursued its way; and shortly after eleven o'clock it drew up at the door of a mansion on Piccadilly Hill.
Mr. Dykes, having asked the ladies a few questions, promised to communicate the result of his efforts to capture the highwayman; and then took his departure.
Lady Hatfield and Miss Mordaunt shortly retired to their respective bed-chambers: the latter to dream of the delights of London—the former to moisten her pillow with tears; for the recent adventure had awakened in her mind feelings of the most agonising description.