terribly done. There, he changed horses for the last time and set out on the final eleven-mile stage. His mount was a good one but he was no longer capable of getting the best out of it. Yet he continued to do his damnedest.
He knew that his enemy had ridden at leisure for the first half of the journey and so must be in much better shape than himself. The odds were that within half an hour of taking to the woods the Frenchman would have regained the road and was now riding all out behind him. He had thought of endeavouring to prevent him being furnished with relays, but to do so would have meant stopping at each posting-house while somebody in authority was found to whom he could show his father's warrant, and he had decided that he dared not risk such a series of delays.
As dawn broke he was riding at a slow trot over Putney Heath, then he walked his horse down the slope towards the bridge, crossed the Thames, and began to trot again through the village of Fulham. Nerving himself to a last effort he cantered up the slope beyond Knightsbridge and pulled up at the tollgate on Hyde Park Corner, at eight o'clock.
Having inquired his way to Queen Anne's Gate, he trotted the last half-mile past Buckingham House and through St. James's Park, to rein in and almost fall from his saddle in front of Mr. Gilbert Maxwell's house.
His ring at the door was answered by a smooth-faced servant in plain livery, to whom he said that he must see Mr. Maxwell immediately, on a most urgent matter.
'I am sorry, Sir,' the man answered, 'but Mr. Maxwell has already gone out.'
This was the one thing that Roger had not foreseen, and it came as a desperate blow.
'Where can I find him' he gasped. 'I come on the King's business, and 'twill not wait.'
The servant shook his head regretfully. 'Mr. Maxwell never leaves word where he is to be found when he walks abroad.'
'How soon will he be back?'
'That is more than I can say, Sir. But if you care to leave your name, or write to him '
'I tell you my business is of most desperate urgency,' Roger cried, 'and the day would be gone before a letter could be delivered.'
'Oh, no, Sir,' the man replied blandly. 'If you care to enter and write your letter here, I can promise you that it will reach him with very little delay.'
Roger was in no state to ponder this paradox and assess its meaning. Instead he stood leaning against the iron railing for a moment, frantically searching his mind for some other source where he might secure the urgent help he needed. Suddenly he had an inspiration, and asked: 'Where is Amesbury House?'
'In Arlington Street, Sir. Just off Piccadilly. You have but to ride north across the Park and you will come to it.'
'I pray you help me to my horse.'
The man obliged and Roger trotted across Birdcage Walk towards St. James's Palace. As he did so it crossed his mind that perhaps, after all, Mr. Gilbert Maxwell was at home but, owing to the highly secret nature of his work, made it a rule never to reveal himself to anyone If so, a note left for him might have produced the required action in time to be effective; but that was only speculation, and Roger's need was too urgent for him to consider turning back now that he had thought of another possibility.
Outside the Palace he inquired again, of a man in a cocked hat, for the exact situation of Amesbury House, and, on learning it, pushed on up St. James's Street. Having turned left near its top end another moment brought him into the courtyard of the great mansion he was seeking.
Flinging himself off his horse he stumbled up the steps and shouted to the liveried footman on the doon 'Lord Edward Fitz-Deverel! Is he at home?'
'Why, yes, Sir,' replied the astonished servant. 'But His Lordship is not yet risen.'
'No matter! Take me to him!' panted Roger.
His dishevelled state and bandaged head now proved a talisman. The footman was sensible enough to see that this was no time to stand on ceremony. Acting with an initiative that no French servant would have dared to show, he grabbed Roger by the arm and hurried him up the broad marble staircase, then along a corridor to a heavily-carved door. Banging on it with his fists, he cried: 'My Lord! There's a gentleman here who has travelled in. great haste to see you.'
'Let him come in then,' called a voice; and, throwing open the door, Roger staggered forward towards Droopy Ned.
Droopy did not seem to have grown any older. He still had the curiously ageless look of a young man old before his time. He was dressed in a magnificent flowing robe of Indian silk and wore a turban round his head. With his feet stretched out before him, he reclined at ease on a gilded chaise-longue while toying with a breakfast tray set on a low table at his side.
As his pale blue eyes fell on Roger, he said languidly: 'Egad, Sir! You seem in a plaguey hurry. Who are you? I seem to know your face.'
Collapsing in a chair, Roger grinned at him. 'We last met on leaving Sherborne. You told me then to call upon you if ever I needed assistance and, by God, if ever any man needed it, I need it now.'
'Why! Strap me, if it's not young Roger Brook!' Droopy grinned back. 'And I'll honour the pledge willingly. If you need a poor sword or a fat purse, either are at your service.'
In five minutes Roger had given the salient points in the affair that concerned him so desperately. Droopy's quick brain seemed to leap ahead of the tale at almost every stage; and, well before it was done, the languid fop had given place to the man of action. Throwing off his robe and turban he began to pull on his outdoor clothes; then he took two long strides to the door and hollaed for his servants.
One he sent to order his coach, another to collect four footmen armed with pistols to accompany him, and a third to request his father to ask an audience of Mr. Pitt for him at noon.
As they ran off to execute his orders he hastily completed his dressing, then fetched a decanter of some foreign cordial from a bureau and made Roger swallow a couple of glasses of it. The liquor revived him wonderfully and when, a few minutes later, they ran downstairs he felt that, if put to it, he could yet have ridden another stage. Within a quarter of an hour of his having reached Amesbury House, they were in the coach and off, with two armed footmen on the box and another two inside the vehicle with them.
'Whither are we going?' Roger asked, as the coach trundled across Piccadilly.
'To Portland Place,' replied Droopy. ' 'Tis in that fine new thoroughfare that the French Embassy is situated.'
Ten minutes later they were driving up the beautiful broad street, with open country at the far end of it.
'How do you plan to take him? inquired Roger, thrusting his head out of the window. But this time he had no need to be apprehensive.
'We'll lie in wait for him in front of the house next to the Embassy,' Droopy said, pulling him back by the skirt of his coat. 'I'll send two of my men round to the back entrance lest, perchance, he elects to attempt getting in that way. Should he do so one of them can hold him covered with a pistol while t'other comes round to fetch us. From your description of his figure and dress 'tis impossible that they should fail to recognise him. Henry and Thomas, here, shall take the back of the house while James and John remain on the boot to render us assistance should we need it. I will give all of them their instructions; since you must not show yourself, lest he recognise you, even from a distance, and gallop off once more.'
' 'Tis well planned,' Roger agreed. 'But he'll not recognise me, for I've never been face to face with the fellow, except in the dark.'
'Of that, you cannot be certain,' Droopy remarked shrewdly. 'In any event, 'tis wisest that you should remain in a comer of the coach and not emerge until I give the word.'
The dispositions were soon made, and they settled down to wait. Excited and overwrought as he was, Roger soon found his head nodding and, after sitting still for ten minutes, he was sound asleep.
Over an hour and a half elapsed, and when one of the footmen rapped sharply on the roof of the coach Roger did not hear him. Droopy peered out of the window and watched a thin, lanky figure come riding up the street. He waited patiently until the man had dismounted and stood in the road some ten paces away. Then he shook Roger awake, thrust a pistol into his hand and, levelling his own, sprang out of the coach.
At the sound the horseman turned, started, and made a move as though to dash for the doorway of the Embassy; but he knew that it was too far off for him to reach it. He had seen instantly that he waa covered by the two footmen on the boot of the coach as well as by Droopy, and he heard the latter shout in French:
