"That's Mrs. Osbourne," said the trooper, bending down; "I knew her, poor soul."
Just beyond stood her carriage, the chauffeur murdered in his seat, and close beside in the gutter lay some poor rioter who had ceased to starve.
They rode on in silence to the end of that moonlit solitude, and were passing the north edge of the Horse Guards Parade, still under the spell of horror, when a cloud passed across the moon.
"What's that?" cried Lancaster.
Brand looked up, relieved at any interruption to his thoughts. "Only a destroyer cruising—on patrol, I suppose, to keep order."
"Unless," said the trooper, "we're followed."
"An officer and a trooper of the Guard—nonsense!"
"Unless Prince Ali——"
"I see. He would warn the Government to expect my escape. So. This destroyer may think we're chasing Mr. Brand to Tower Hill."
"She's following, anyway."