“Your escape, Clifford. Come, we have no time to lose. Fresh horses await us in the stables, saddled and bridled ready for instant use. Here are clothes for a disguise. Don them, and we leave at once. We are to make a wide détour to the north of Chatham, reaching the Passaic River again at Newark. A boat will be there in the bay to take us to New York. It cannot fail if we start now.”
“And Peggy?” he questioned so calmly that she should have taken alarm from the quietness of his voice.
“Peggy is to go back to Chatham, and tell the rebels they may seek another victim,” she replied gleefully.
“Peggy to go back to face Colonel Dayton with information that I have escaped?” he cried, amazement written on every feature.
“She was not to know it, Cliff, but you would have her to come in here. Beside, they wouldn’t harm her. She is a Whig herself, remember. Oh, she may come with us,” she added as his brow grew dark. “Only, Clifford, we must make haste. The longer start we have the better chance we stand of success.”
“Who are those men that brought us here?”
“Hirelings,” she cried. “Of course I paid them well. Don’t ask so many questions, Cliff. They are natives from near here. They will do anything I ask.”
“Come, Peggy,” he said rising. “We are going back. Not all the hirelings in the world shall make me break my parole.”
“Clifford, ’tis not the time for quixotic foolishness. Do you not understand that Sir Guy hath sent word to General Washington that he will investigate further? General Washington does not want that. He wants Lippencott, or, failing him, a victim. He will wait only so long as it takes Sir Guy’s letter to reach him. It means death, Clifford. An ignominious death.”