The front door was held open by a lackey, who stared to see his master coming so unconcernedly. He ventured to speak. “Señor—the lieutenant has just gone into the library in search of you. You have not heard, señor—the prisoner has escaped!”
Sir Nicholas raised the handkerchief to his lips and coughed. Through the cough he said in as fair an imitation of Don Cristobal’s voice as he could assume: “He is taken. The sergeant has my instructions.”
He went past the lackey as he spoke, but he knew that the man was surprised, perhaps even suspicious, and there was not a moment to be lost. A coach with plumes upon the roof and curtains hung at the sides stood waiting. He got in. “I am late. Drive fast.”
The coachman was agog with excitement. “Señor, the prisoner—”
“The prisoner is safe!” said Sir Nicholas. “Drive on!”
The coachman gathered up the reins; the horses’ hooves clattered on the paving-stones; the coach moved slowly forward under the arch towards the open gates.
The lackey at the door ran after. “Señor, the lieutenant—”
“To hell with the lieutenant!” said Sir Nicholas. “Drive on!”
The coach rumbled out of the gate and turned at right angles into the street.
The lieutenant, Cruza, hurrying out of the house, was just in time to see it disappear round the corner. “What—the Governor!” he cried.
The lackey rubbed his perplexed head. “Señor, the Governor would not wait. He sounded very hasty, and unlike himself.”
“The Governor would not wait?” Cruza stared uncomprehendingly.
There came a shout from within. “Stop that man! Stop that man! The Governor is here, gagged and bound! Stop that man!”
“Sangre de Dios, he is away!” cried the lieutenant, and went bounding out through the archway. “For your lives after that coach!” he shot at the sentries. “The prisoner is in it! Off with you!”
But when two labouring soldiers came up with the slow-moving coach there was no one inside. El Beauvallet had vanished.
XIX
Outside the wall that enclosed the Governor’s garden Joshua waited, safe in the shadows. He had a coil of rope in his hand, and had hitched his dagger round so that he might easily come at it. He shivered from time to time, started at small noises, and was finely scared by a marauding black cat. Recovering from this fright he watched the cat slink off, and was moved to shake his fist at it. “What, you doxy! You’ll creep up to give me a fright, will you? You may thank my need for quiet that I do not spit you on the end of my knife.” The cat disappeared over the wall. “Ay, over you go, featly as you please, upon your naughty business,” said Joshua bitterly. “If a man might get over that wall so easily I should be the better pleased.” He set himself to listen again, but could hear only the rustle of the light wind through the trees. “Can he make it?” muttered Joshua. “I do not doubt, no, but I confess I shall be the more at ease when I see you safe beside me, master. Ha, what’s this?”
He listened intently, heard the sound of voices on the other side, but could not catch what was said. A door slammed, he heard the gravel scrunch under a heavy boot, a sound as of a grounded halberd, and a murmur of voices.
Dismay consumed him; he was in a fret to be gone from his post, to be up and doing, at least to know more. If Sir Nicholas had broken free he could never escape this way, with men posted in the garden. And how to warn him? Joshua wrung his hands in impotent despair. “God’s me, God’s me, this is to ruin all! I am in no doubt now that you have broken free, master, but why so slow? Ah, why, why? You will walk into this trap. This is not Mad Nick’s way to let others be before him. What mischance? Trapped, trapped!” He looked right and left. “To warn you—think, Joshua, think! I am no loose-living cat to go jumping walls.” He bit his nails in a frenzy, glanced up at the wall, shook his head hopelessly. “Naught to do but to wait. But if he hath broken loose what makes he there? Will he fall upon these men in the garden? What, weaponless to pit his strength against I know not how many men with pikes? And here stand I mammering! Nor dare do else!”
He stood still, listening, sweating, dreading at once the sound of a capture in the garden, and the approach of some loiterer, or, worse, a guard in the street.
He stiffened suddenly, and peered into the darkness. A light step sounded, approaching fast. He began to walk away down the street, as though bound upon some errand.
The footsteps were coming closer, rapidly overhauling him. He stole a hand to his dagger, and went steadily on his way. If this was a guard he was coming on his death.
He was overtaken, felt a grip on his shoulder, and spun round, dagger out. A hand caught his wrist in midair, and held it clamped hard. “Death on thy soul, Joshua! learn to know your master!” hissed Sir Nicholas.
Joshua almost fell to his knees. “Master! Safe! safe!” he whispered ecstatically.
“Of course I am safe, fat-wit. Put up that knife. A horse is all my need.”
“Said I not so!” Joshua was moved to kiss his hand. “Said I, what will be my master’s cry? Why, what but Horses, Joshua! They are hard by, sir, saddled and ready.”
“God ’ild you, then. Lead me to them. The hunt is up in good sooth, and we must win clear away tonight.” He gave a little chuckle. “A rare night’s work! Where’s my lady?”
“Gone these four days, master, and that squirting ahead of her.” Joshua led him down a side-alley, walking fast. “I had speech with
