“Where are you about to take me?”
“I am not,” answered the man, “permitted to give information of any kind.”
“But,” protested the youth, “the person who wrote this paper must at least——”
“We will not speak of any person or persons, if you please,” put in the man, curtly. “My instructions were to conduct you to a certain spot. What else is going forward is not my affair; I can say nothing.”
Surprised at this, and rather startled at the increased mystery, Tom stepped along at the man’s side in silence, until they reached the hostelry where the horses were. A groom saddled them quickly and brought them out; the man who was to act as guide for Tom at once sprang upon the fine gray horse which was led up to the block. Tom mounted Sultan slowly; the groom seemed to know the dark man with the scar; this interested our young swamp-rider, and he would have given a good deal for a quiet word before they rode away.
But this was impossible; the guide never took his sharp eyes from the youth; he seemed to be expecting some such attempt; and of course while he watched, Tom could not make it. They set off through the city by much the same route as Tom had entered it. When they reached a quiet spot the man with the scar pulled up.
“Young, sir,” said he gravely; “if I am not mistaken this errand means much to you and—and—well, others.”
“It does,” answered Tom, his mind reverting to Laura.
“You would risk much to carry it through, would you not?”
“I am risking much as it is,” answered Tom, quietly.