It was a sombre enough thought to occupy his mind all the way to the pier, and it kept him silent as he climbed into the Governor’s carriage to be driven to Government House—he had no Commander-in-Chief’s carriage now. He was still silent as they drove away.

But they had hardly gone a mile when they met a lively cavalcade clattering down on horseback towards them. First Hornblower saw Barbara—he would have picked her out in any crowd even if she had not been conspicuous on a white horse. His Excellency rode on one side of her and Lady Hooper on the other, chattering eagerly. Behind them came a mixed party, of aides-de-camp and civilians; at the rear rode the Assistant Provost-Marshal and two troopers of his guard.

“Ha, Hornblower!” called the Governor, reining up. “Your ceremonial seems to have finished earlier than I expected.”

“Good morning, sir,” said Hornblower. “Your servant, ma’am.”

Then he smiled at Barbara—he could always smile at the sight of her despite any depression. In her hunting veil the smile she gave him in return was hardly apparent.

“You can join us in our hunt. One of my aides-de-camp will give you his horse,” said Hooper, and then, peering into the carriage, “No, perhaps not, in those silk stockings. You can follow us in the carriage, like a lady with certain expectations. Like the Queen of France, by Gad! Turn that carriage, coachman.”

“What are you hunting, sir?” asked Hornblower, a little bewildered.

“That deserter of yours. He might show us some sport,” answered Hooper.

They were hunting man, the biggest game of all—but Hudnutt, dreamy, scatter-brained Hudnutt, would be poor game. Two coloured servants rode in the party, each holding a leash of bloodhounds, tawny and black; grim, horrible creatures. He wanted to have nothing to do with this hunt, nothing whatever. He wanted to order the carriage to turn back again. This was a nightmare, and it was beyond his power to awaken himself from it. It was horrible to see Barbara taking part in it. At the dockyard gate, at the high palisade, the cortege halted.

“That’s the prison,” said the Assistant Provost-Marshal, pointing. “You can see the hole in the roof, sir.”

An area of thatch had been torn away. Probably that prison was not very strongly built; to escape from it meant that the fifteen-foot palisade had to be scaled next—and even then certain recapture somewhere in the island awaited the man to achieve that feat.

“Come on,” said the Assistant Provost-Marshal, and he and his guard and the men with the bloodhounds trotted into the dockyard to the prison and dismounted. They took the bloodhounds into the prison, where presumably the hounds smelt at the prisoner’s bedding. Then they reappeared at the door, smelling at the ground below the hole in the roof. Instantly they caught the scent, throwing themselves against their leashes so that the coloured servants had a difficult task to remount, and then they came pelting across the dockyard again. They threw themselves against the palisade, leaping up at it, slavering with excitement.

“Bring ‘em round to this side!” shouted the Governor, and then, turning to Hornblower, “Your man’s a marine, isn’t he? Even a sailor would find it hard to scale that palisade.”

Hudnutt might have done it in some exalted mood, thought Hornblower—those dreamers were like madmen sometimes.

The bloodhounds were brought round through the dockyard gate again and led to the corresponding point on the outside of the palisade. They caught the scent again in a flash, throwing themselves against their leashes and galloping down the road.

“Gone away!” yelled the Governor, spurring his horse after them.

Hudnutt had climbed that fifteen-foot palisade, then. He must have been insane. The cavalcade had all gone on ahead; the coachman was urging the carriage horses along as fast as their dignity and the inequalities of the road would permit; the carriage lurched and leaped, throwing Hornblower against Gerard beside him and sometimes even against Spendlove opposite. Straight up the road they went, heading for the open country and the Blue Mountains beyond. The horsemen ahead reined back into a trot, and the coachman followed their example, so that the progress of the carriage became more sedate.

“A hot enough scent, My Lord,” said Gerard, peering forward at the bloodhounds still straining at their leashes.

“And yet this road must have been well travelled since he went along it,” said Spendlove.

“Ah!” said Gerard, still peering forward. “They’re leaving the road.”

As the carriage reached the corner they saw that the horsemen had turned up a broad lane through fields of cane; the coachman, nothing daunted, swung up into the lane after them, but after two more miles of rapid progress he pulled his horses to a halt.

“A check here, Hornblower,” said the Governor. “This lane fords the Hope River here.”

The halted cavalcade was breathing the horses; Barbara waved her gloved hand to him.

“No scent the other side,” explained the Governor, and then, calling to the men with the bloodhounds. “Cast upstream as well as down. And on both sides.”

The Assistant Provost-Marshal acknowledged the order with a salute.

“Your man knew we’d have bloodhounds after him,” said the Governor. “He waded along the river. But he has to come out sooner or later, and we’ll pick up the scent again there.”

Barbara guided her horse to the side of the carriage, and raised her veil to speak to him.

“Good morning, dear,” she said.

“Good morning,” said Hornblower.

It was hard to say more, when the events of the last hour or two, and all their implications, were allowed for. And Barbara was hardly flushed with the heat and the exercise. She looked drawn and tired; her smile was positively wan. It occurred to Hornblower that she was participating in this hunt as unwillingly as he was. And it seemed likely that she had allowed the move from Admiralty House to Government House this morning to trouble her; womanlike she would not have been able to allow the Navy to execute the task without her supervision even though the Navy had made similar moves by the hundred thousand. She had tried to order it all and was weary in consequence.

“Come and sit in the carriage, dear,” he said. “Gerard will take your horse.”

“Mr. Gerard is wearing silk stockings the same as you are, dear,” replied Barbara, smiling through her weariness, “and I have too much respect for his dignity to set him on a side saddle in any case.”

“My groom will lead your horse, Lady Hornblower,” interposed the Governor. “This hunt looks as if it’s going to turn out badly.”

Hornblower scrambled down from the carriage to help Barbara from the side-saddle and up into the carriage. Gerard and Spendlove, who had followed him out, followed them back after a moment’s hesitation and sat with their backs to the horses.

“We should have heard something from the bloodhounds by now,” said the Governor. The four bloodhounds had now cast up and down both banks for a considerable distance. “Can he have climbed a tree?”

A man could be more resourceful than any fox, Hornblower knew. But it was an unexpected aspect of Hudnutt’s character.

“Not a trace of scent, Your Excellency,” said the Assistant Provost-Marshal trotting up. “Nothing at all.”

“Oh, well then, we’ll go home again. A poor day’s sport after all. We’ll precede you, Lady Hornblower, with your permission.”

“We’ll see you at the house, dear Lady Hornblower,” echoed Lady Hooper.

The carriage turned again and followed the horsemen down the lane.

“You’ve had a busy morning, I fear, my dear,” said Hornblower; with his staff sitting across the carriage from them he had to retain a certain formality of tone.

“Not busy at all,” answered Barbara, turning her head to meet his glance. “A very pleasant morning, thank you, dear. And you—your ceremonial went off without a hitch, I hope?”