“Oh sir,” said the groom, “there has been murder, we fear, already. Mr Groocock’s cob has just galloped in from across the park with blood on his saddle, and it’s too clear that the steward has been killed, or the animal would not have come home without him.”
“This is terrible,” said Harry; “poor old man. Go some of you and search for him. I must not delay.” Turning to the sergeant, he added, galloping on—“Do you and your men accompany me.”
The sergeant mounted his horse and followed him. The troopers were found drawn up at the entrance of the avenue, while in the distance were seen a large band of wild-looking fellows armed in a variety of ways, some on horseback, and others on foot, apparently watching the movements of the soldiers, by whose timely arrival they had been prevented from entering the park.
The sergeant ordered his men to follow.
“Those are the fellows who fired at the carriage, and were nearly overtaking it when we came up, I can swear to that,” he said.
“We must seize their leader, and as many as we can get hold of, or they may still attack the Hall,” answered Harry.
“The sooner we are at them the better, though I fear they will not stand us,” cried the sergeant. “Charge, my lads, and get hold of the fellow on the black horse. I saw him fire two shots.”
And putting spurs to their horses, they dashed on.
As they were galloping along, and before they had gone many paces, Harry, to his grief, saw the apparently dead body of the steward lying close by the road-side, where he had, it seemed, fallen when shot. He could not stop to ascertain whether he was dead or alive.
The smugglers still held their ground not two hundred yards off. Harry recognised Miles Gaffin, who, by his actions, was evidently