“No, sir,” was the calm reply, “the whole affair occurred in this manner. When I left Darlington Hall with old Sir Richard Warbeck, our carriage was attacked by a band of highwaymen.”
“I see, I see,” said the fond father, in great glee, “and in beating them off you got wounded?”
“Not that exactly; let me tell the story. Old Sir Richard escaped through the assistance of some gallant gentleman unknown to him or myself, and he travelled on alone, for after fighting with the vagabonds, and after I had wounded several of them, they took me prisoner.”
“Took you prisoner, eh? What a mercy you escaped at all! You surprise me.”
“It will surprise you more to hear what I’ve got to tell. These ruffians conducted me to a roadside den, some house of call of theirs, and who should I discover but Ned Warbeck among them.”
“Ned Warbeck? Impossible!”
“No, it is a fact seeing him there; and knowing what a young rascal he is I accused him of having set on the villains to rob and murder his uncle so as to fall heir to part of the estate.”
“Oh, the young scoundrel! And so you think he did so?”
“Think!” said Phillip, with a curling lip. “I am sure of it, for who but he could have known of his uncle’s intended journey?”
“I see, I see,—go on: this adventure is intensely exciting. And what happened?”