Sidney left the room again, and the Vicomte d'Audierne detected the quick, anxious glance directed by Hilda at his retreating form. A few minutes later young Carew rode away from the house in company with two men, while a fourth horseman followed closely.
He who rode on Sidney's left hand was a tall, grizzled man, with the bearing of a soldier, while his second companion was fair and gentle in manner. The soldier was Captain Pharland, District Inspector of Police; the civilian was the keenest detective in London.
“Of course,” said this man, who sat his hired horse with perfect confidence. “Of course we are too late, I know that.”
He spoke softly and somewhat slowly; his manner was essentially that of a man accustomed to the entire attention of his hearers.
“The old Italian,” he continued, “who went under the name of Signor Bruno, disappeared this morning. It is just possible that he will succeed in getting out of the country. It all depends upon who he is.”
“Who do you suppose he is?” asked Captain Pharland. He was an upright old British soldier, and felt ill at ease in the society of his celebrated confrère.
“I don't know,” was the frank reply; “you see this is not a criminal affair, it is entirely political; it is hardly in my line of country.”
They rode on in silence for a space of time, during which Captain Pharland lighted a cigar and offered one to his companions. Sidney accepted, but the gentleman from London refused quietly, and without explanation. It was he who spoke first.
“Mr. Carew,” he said, “can you tell me when this monastery was first instituted at Porton Abbey?”
“Last autumn.”