Mr. Harry Bolton, he also knew, was his father’s travelling collector, and was about to start on his usual journey.
As we have seen, Phillip forestalled Bolton’s visit to Four Ash farm, and by impersonating Bolton, obtained an interview with old Bertram and murdered him.
Young Redgill was a cool-handed villain, and knew not what remorse was.
Bloodshed to him was quite a usual thing.
He was not a brave young man by any means, as Wildfire Ned often proved.
But it was whispered by those who knew him best that when returning from wine parties he would have no scruple in picking a quarrel with any inoffensive citizen he might fall across, and feel no regret at drawing his sword and wounding any one who was unarmed.
Many a simple shopkeeper and unsuspecting night watchman had been “pinked” by “Reckless Redgill,” and no one was any the wiser.
But, like all great rogues and rascals, Phillip was very careful, very careful indeed, in picking quarrels, or drawing his “toasting fork,” upon any one who was at all likely or able to resent it blow for blow.
He had up to the present time run along in his career of crime undetected and unsuspected.
But all things have an end.