The Black Moth

"There are none, Jim."

"No, sir--but ye _will_ have a care?"

"I will be the most cautious of men." He walked away on the word, andpassed into the house.

In an hour he was a very different being. Gone was the emerald ring, thefoppish cane; the languid air, too, had disappeared, leaving him briskand businesslike. He was dressed for riding, with buff coat and buckskinbreeches, and shining top boots. A sober brown wig replaced the powderedcreation, and a black tricorne was set rakishly atop.

He stood in the deserted porch, watching Jim strap his baggage to thesaddle, occasionally giving a curt direction. Presently Mr. Chadberappeared with the stirrup-cup, which he drained and handed back with aword of thanks and a guinea at the bottom.

Someone called lustily from within, and the landlord, bowing very low,murmured apologies and vanished.

Jim cast a last glance at the saddle-girths, and, leaving the marequietly standing in the road, came up to his master with gloves andwhip.

Carstares took them silently and fell to tapping his boot, his eyesthoughtfully on the man's face.

"You will hire a coach, as usual," he said at length, "and take mybaggage to--" (He paused, frowning)--"Lewes. You will engage a room atthe White Hart and order dinner. I shall wear--apricot and--h'm!"

"Blue, sir?" ventured Jim, with an idea of being helpful.

His master's eyes crinkled at the corners.

"You are a humorist, Salter. Apricot and cream. Cream? Yes, 'tis apleasing thought--cream. That is all--Jenny!"

The mare turned her head, whinnying as he came towards her.

"Good lass!" He mounted lightly and patted her glossy neck. Then heleaned sideways in the saddle to speak again to Salter, who stood besidehim, one hand on the bridle.

"The cloak?"

"Behind you, sir."

"My wig?"

"Yes, sir."

"Pistols?"

"Ready primed, sir."

"Good. I shall be in Lewes in time for dinner--with luck."

"Yes, sir. Ye--ye will have a care?" anxiously.

"Have I not told you?" He straightened in the saddle, touched the marewith his heel, and bestowing a quick smile and a nod on his man, trottedeasily away.

CHAPTER II

MY LORD AT THE WHITE HART

"Sir Anthony Ferndale" sat before the dressing-table in his room at theWhite Hart, idly polishing his nails. A gorgeous silk dressing gown layover the back of his chair, and, behind him, Jim was attending to hiswig, at the same time hovering anxiously over the coat and waistcoatthat were waiting to be donned.

Carstares left off polishing his nails, yawned, and leaned back in hischair, a slim, graceful figure in cambric shirt and apricot satinbreeches. He studied his cravat for some moments in the mirror, andlifted a hand to it. Salter held his breath. With extreme deliberationthe hand moved a diamond and emerald pin the fraction of an inch to oneside, and fell to his side again. Salter drew a relieved breath, whichbrought his master's eyes round to himself.

"No trouble, Jim?"

"None at all, sir."

"Neither had I. 'Twas most surprisingly easy. The birds had no morefight in them than sparrows. Two men in a coach--one a bullying rascalof a merchant, the other his clerk. Gad! but I was sorry for that littleman!" He paused, his hand on the rouge pot.