He found Hickling engaged in rubbing down his hack, already haltered in his stall. He said, in an imperative undervoice: “Where’s Chard?”
“Gone off to his quarters, I think, sir. Mr. Martin, his lordship ain’t in his bed! He went off in his curricle, and my uncle with him, and — ”
“I know that!” Martin interrupted. “Any clodpole would have served me better than your damned uncle! Get my saddle on to the bay! Quick!”
“But, Mr. Martin — !”
A footstep sounded outside, and a not very melodious voice, humming one of the ditties popular at one time with the Army in Spain.
“Chard!” Martin whispered. “Leave the saddle — I’ll do it myself! Get that fellow out of earshot!”
“Mr. Martin, I don’t like it!” Hickling whispered in return. “If you’re meaning to go yourself, it’s too dangerous, sir! Only let me — ”
“No! Do as I bid you!” Martin said, and thrust him towards the door.
He waited, standing very still, until he heard Hickling speak to Chard.
“P’raps, Mr. Chard, if you happen to be at liberty, you’d like to take a look at his lordship’s Cloud, which you seen fit to turn into the meadow this morning,” said Hickling, with awful politeness. “Of course, it ain’t any business of mine, and I’m sure if you’re satisfied there’s nothing amiss, after all the experience you’ve had, I wouldn’t wish to raise my voice. I should have thought you’d have noticed it, when you brought him out, but there! you was in such a hurry to get off to Grantham I daresay you wasn’t looking at him very particular.”