arlet of every
wandering chapster," said Tinker with a splendid air.

"I'm not a wandering chapster," said the money-lender. "I'm a
gentleman of London. I'll give you five shillings--half a sovereign--a
pound!"

"The offer of money to one in whose veins flows the proudest blood of
the North is an insult!" said Tinker in a terrible voice.

"No offence! No offence!" said Mr. Lambert, cursing what he believed
to be the penniless Highland pride under his breath.

Suddenly Tinker saw his way. "From the top of yon tower I can show you
the path to Hamish Beg's. Follow me," he said, turned his pony, and
led the way up the hill with a sinister air.

With a groan, the money-lender, quite unobservant of the sinister air,
breasted the ascent. He set down his rifle by the door of the tower,
and followed Tinker up the ladders.

"You see those two pine trees between those two far hills?" said Tinker.

Mr. Lambert drew round his field-glasses, and after long fumbling,
focussed them on the pines. "Well?" he said.

There was no answer; he turned to his angel guide, and found himself
alone on the tower. He ran to the top of the ladder and looked down.
At the bottom stood Tinker regarding him with an excellent sardonic
smile: "Ha! ha!" he cried in a gruff, triumphant voice,
"Trapped--trapped!" And he turned on his heel.

The money-lender heard the door slam and the key turn in the lock. He
ran to the parapet, and saw Tinker mounting his pony with an easy grace
and the air of one who has performed a meritorious action.

"Hi! Hullo! What are you up to?" cried Mr. Lambert.

"Foul extortioner! Your crimes have found you out! You have consigned
many a poor soul to the dungeon, it is your turn now," said Tinker with
admirable grandiloquence. Then, dropping to his ordinary voice, he
added plaintively: "Of course it's not really a dungeon; it ought to be
underground--with rats. But we must make the best of it."

"Look here, my lad," said Mr. Lambert thickly. "I don't want any of
your silly games! I shall be late enough home as it is. You unlock
that door, and show me the way to this Beg's at once! D'ye hear?"

Tinker laughed a good scornful laugh. "Lambert of London," he said,
returning to the romantic vein, "to-night reflect on your misdeeds.
To-morrow we will treat of your ransom. Hans Breithelm and Jorgan
Schwartz, ye answer for this caitiff's safe keeping with your heads! I
charge ye watch him well. To ho