And so she swept from the room, and the Guardsman in the corridor who followed at her signal saw that the Queen was crying. Lancaster served Mr. Brand as squire, assisting him while he changed his civilian clothes for the gold harness and scarlet cloak of an officer of the Guard, the only dress which would give him even a moderate degree of safety in the streets of the town. Brand made not the least pretence to a military bearing, but he was an athlete in habit, and the harness fitted him well. He was thinking too intently to be awkward or self-conscious in disguise, and when at last the trooper brought a big, black stallion into the courtyard, he swung into the saddle with the ease of a horseman. The Prince was less suspicious at the sight of horsemanship. "Now can you get me a strong lantern?" Lord Lancaster ran into the Palace, and for a minute the master sat curbing the black stallion, who danced polka movements, uneasy at the delay. Just before Lord Lancaster came back, a window opened far up in the courtyard wall. Then a white handkerchief fluttered softly down like a snowflake. The master rode forward and caught and fastened it to the front of his helmet. "Are you ready, sir?" cried Lancaster. "God save the Queen," said Brand, and they rode out under the archway. The Queen's ring passed them through the gates, and breaking into a canter side by side, the horsemen swung round the east wing out into the Mall. The clocks were striking two as they traversed the spacious avenue, now dark and silent. "Do you still want to shoot me, sir?" asked Brand. "Drop that '_sir_'," answered the young Prince. "It sounds absurd from you. Call me Lancaster. Forget that nonsense I talked. She trusts you. That's good enough for me." Abreast of Marlborough House the horses shied violently passing the body of a murdered woman. She lay in her white evening dress, her fair face streaked with blood, and the jewels had been wrenched from her hair and neck. "That's Mrs. Osbourne," said the trooper, bending down; "I knew her, poor soul." Just beyond stood her carriage, the chauffeur murdered in his seat, and close beside in the gutter lay some poor rioter who had ceased to starve. They rode on in silence to the end of that moonlit solitude, and were passing the north edge of the Horse Guards Parade, still under the spell of horror, when a cloud passed across the moon. "What's that?" cried Lancaster. Brand looked up, relieved at any interruption to his thoughts. "Only a destroyer cruising--on patrol, I suppose, to keep order." "Unless," said the trooper, "we're followed." "An officer and a trooper of the Guard--nonsense!" "Unless Prince Ali----" "I see. He would warn the Government to expect my escape. So. This destroyer may think we're chasing Mr. Brand to Tower Hill." "She's following, anyway." "We'll have to call her presently to help us." The master laughed, drawing his cloak about him.