“The truth is, young man,” said Captain Jack to Bob Bertram, after he had bandaged his comrades’ wounds, “the truth is as you say, we have fallen into rough hands to-night—very rough hands indeed. Did you ever hear of a person hereabouts called Bob Bertram?”
“Yes, I think I have,” said Bob, coolly. “What of that?”
“Well, it’s all through him that we’ve got all these cuts and wounds.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes,” said Captain Jack, inventing lies as he went on; “we are officers of the crown, and were sent to escort this Bob Bertram to London, but he escaped just in time. We got scent of where he was hiding, and overtook the carriage in which he was escaping. Like brave men and good officers, we attacked it, but just as we were on the point of securing the rascal, out pounces a score of villains upon us from a wood. After a desperate encounter we killed and wounded a great many, but were at last compelled to fly, for the whole village was at our heels.”
“Indeed!” said Bob, in wonder; “but are you sure that the person in the carriage really was Bob Bertram?”
“Not a doubt of it!” said Captain Jack, pleased with his well-told string of lies.
During this conversation, and while Jack was dilating at great length upon the bravery of himself and comrades, a stranger entered the room and took a seat on the dark side of the fire-place.
Bob and Tim exchanged quick looks at one another on the stranger’s entrance.
It was not Wildfire Ned.