at a small house standing back from the road, in a garden of its
own.

"We will carry him in, Tony," Charlie said, "if you will get the
door open."

They carried him in through the door, at which a woman was
standing, into a room, where they saw, to their satisfaction, a
blazing fire. The prisoner was laid down on the ground. Leaving him
to himself, Charlie and his friends sat down to the table, which
was laid in readiness. Two cold chickens, and ham, and bread had
been placed on it.

"Now, Tony, sit down. You must be as hungry as we are."

"Thank you, gentlemen. I am going to have my breakfast in the
kitchen, with my wife."

As he spoke, the woman came in with two large tankards full of
steaming liquid, whose odour at once proclaimed it to be spiced
ale.

"Well, wife, we have done a good night's work," Tony said.

"A good night's work for all of us," Charlie put in. "Your husband
has done us an immense service, Mrs. Peters, and, when our fathers
come to their own again, they will not forget the service he has
rendered us."

When they had made a hearty meal, Tony was called in again.

"Now, Tony, we will proceed to business. You have got pen and ink
and paper, I suppose?"

"I have everything ready, sir. I will clear away this table, so as
to have all in order."

When this was done, the highwayman was lifted up and placed in a
chair, and the gag removed from his mouth.

"You don't remember us, I suppose, my man?" Charlie began. "The
last time I saw you was when I brought my stick down on your head,
when you were listening outside a window at Lynnwood."

An exclamation of surprise broke from the prisoner.

"Yes, I am Charlie Carstairs, and this gentleman is Harry Jervoise.
By the way, I have made a mistake. I have seen you twice since
then. The first time was in a wayside tavern, some twelve miles
beyond Barnet, nine days ago. The second time was at another tavern
in Barnet. You will remember that a mischievous boy threw a stone,
and broke one of the lattice panes of the window, where you were
sitting talking over this little affair of the North coach."

A deep execration broke from the lips of the highwayman.

"Now you see how we know all about it," Charlie went on. "Now, it
entirely depends on yourself whether, in the course of another
hour, we shall hand you over to a magistrate, as the leader of the
gang who robbed the North coach, and took part in the robbery near
Dorking--we have found some of