The smile on his countenance betokened success.
“I've found it all out, Sir William,” he cried. “You won't be disappointed. A large party on horseback left this morning—but the Pretender was not one of them.”
“Then he is here, still?”
“No, Sir William; he went away in Sir John Webb's coach.”
“In a coach!—then we may overtake him!”
“Undoubtedly. The carriage is large and heavy, and doesn't travel more than three or four miles an hour. We shall catch him before he gets to Morpeth.”
“Is he gone in that direction?”
“He is, Sir William. I told you I'd find out something, and you must own that I've managed to put you on the right scent.”
“You have,” cried the sheriff, jumping on his horse. “Follow me, gentlemen!—follow me!”—he called out to the yeomen, who had been waiting all this time outside the gate.
Next minute they were rattling down the avenue, with the sheriff at their head.