“High road?” said Mr Hawkins. “Lord love you, it ain’t high roads for us, my bully! You follow me.”
The way Mr Hawkins chose was unknown to his companions, and seemed very tortuous. He skirted every village, took a wide detour round Hounslow and led them eventually on to the Heath shortly after one. Ten minutes’ canter brought the main Bath Road into sight.
“You want to lie up where no one won’t see you,” advised Mr Hawkins. “There’s a bit of a hill I knows of, with some bushes atop. Know the look of our man’s rabler?”
“Do I know the look of his what?” said the Viscount.
“His rabler—his coach is what I mean!”
“Well, I do wish you’d say what you mean,” said the Viscount severely. “He’s driving a chaise-and-four, that’s all I know.”
“Don’t you know his horses?” asked Captain Heron.
“I know the pair he drives in his curricle, but that don’t help us. We’ll stop the first chaise we see, and if it ain’t him, we’ll stop the next.”
“That’s it,” agreed Sir Roland, dubiously eyeing his mask. “Daresay we’ll need some practice. Look here, Pel, I don’t at all like this mask. There’s too much of it.”
“For my part,” said Captain Heron with an irrepressible laugh, “I’m thanking God for mine!”