Left alone, Sir John reached for his sword, sheathed it, and, picking up the letter, read it through a second time; and conning it over thus he frowned a little, and his chin seemed a trifle more prominent than usual. He was standing lost in thought when, hearing a clatter of hoofs in the yard, he glanced through the window to behold Sir Hector mount and ride away, his weatherbeaten hat cocked at a ferocious angle. Slowly and carefully Sir John folded up the letter and thrust it into a leathern wallet to keep company with a curl of black and glossy hair. Then he rang and ordered a horse in his turn. “Pray, Mr. Levitt,” he inquired, “how many posting-inns are there in this town?” “Only two, sir; there be the ‘Lion’ an’ there be the ‘Wheatsheaf,’ both i’ the High Street, your honour.” So in due season, the saddle-horse being at the door, Sir John mounted, bade Mr. Levitt a cheery “good-bye” and rode along the High Street. Inquiring at the ‘Lion,’ he learned of an ostler the information he sought, to wit: “That a young ’ooman—or lady—had ordered their fastest chaise an’ druv’ away for Lon’on ’bout a hour ago!” Sir John thanked his informant, bestowed on him a crown and rode upon his way, smiling a little grimly. CHAPTER XIII CONCERNING THE ADVENT OF JOHN DERWENT Sir John, who, it would seem, never did things by halves, had within the week transformed that exquisite work of art, known at Paris and Versailles as Sir John Dering, into a very ordinary-looking Mr. Derwent. In place of flowing peruke, embroidered coat and perfumed silks and laces, Mr. Derwent wore a small, unpowdered scratch-wig and a sober, snuff-coloured suit extremely unpretentious, and instead of gold-hilted small-sword, carried a serviceable holly-stick. Indeed, Mr. Derwent’s whole appearance was so eminently unnoticeable and his bearing so ordinary that he might have been termed “insignificant,” except perhaps for a certain tilt of his chin and the brilliance of his long-lashed eyes.