These animals, like the others, were led back to the stables; but their riders, instead of entering the house by the front door—as had been done by all those who had preceded them—in this respect deviated slightly from the programme.
As soon as the two grooms, who had taken their horses, were fairly out of sight, they were seen to act in obedience to a sign given by the third; who, whispering to them to follow him, led the way, first along the front of the house, and then around one of its wings, towards the rear.
Even had there been moonlight, it would have been difficult to identify these new comers, who were so mysteriously diverted from making entrance by the front door. Both were muffled in cloaks—more ample and heavy—than the quality of the night seemed to call for. Scarcely could the threatening storm account for this providence on their part?
On rounding the angle of the building, the man preceding them made a stop—at the same time half-facing about.
A gleam of lightning disclosed the countenance of their conductor. It was the woodman—Walford.
His face was paler than wont—of that ghastly hue that denotes the consciousness of crime—while his deep-set watery eyes shining from beneath his white eyebrows and hay-coloured hair, gave to his ill-favoured features an expression almost demoniac.
The countenances of the two cavaliers were also for an instant illuminated. One was the handsome face of Captain Scarthe—appearing like that of the guide—unnaturally pale under the unearthly glare of the electric light. The other was the stolid, but rubicund, countenance of his subaltern, Stubbs.
While the light lasted, Walford was seen beckoning them to follow fester.
“Coom on, masters!” muttered he, in an earnest, hurried tone, “There’s ne’er a minute to be lost. That ’ere dummy o’ an Indyen has got his eyes everywhere. If he sees ye, he’ll want to take ye inside among the rest; an’ that won’t answer yer purpose, I reckon.”
“No! that would never do,” muttered Scarthe, hastening his steps; “our presence inside would spoil this pretty pie. Go on, my good fellow! We’ll follow you—close as the skirt of your doublet.”