He had not proceeded far in his task when Lionel entered with a newspaper in his hand.
“Have you heard the news of the notorious robber being taken?” said he.
“Who do you mean? Barrington, is it?”
“No; Freney.”
“Freney! taken?—when—how—where?”
“It's curious enough,” said Lionel, coolly, seating himself to read the paragraph, without noticing the eagerness of Daly's manner; “the fellow seems to have had a taste for sporting matters which no personal fear could eradicate. His capture took place this wise. He went over to Doncaster, to be present at the Spring Meeting, where he betted freely, and won largely. There happened, however, to come a reverse to his fortune, and on the last day of the running he lost everything, and was obliged to apply for assistance to a former companion, who, it would seem, was some hundred pounds in his debt; this worthy, having no desire to refund, threatened the police; Freney became exasperated, knocked him down on the spot, and then, turning smartly round, chucked one of the jockeys from his saddle, sprang on the horse's back, and made off like lightning. The other, only stunned for a moment, was soon on his legs again, and the cry of 'Freney! it was Freney the robber!' resounded throughout the race-course. The scene must then have been a most exciting one, for the whole mounted population, with one accord, gave chase. Noblemen and country gentlemen, fox-hunters, farmers, and blacklegs, away they went, Freney about a quarter of a mile in front, and riding splendidly.”
“That I 'm sure of,” said Daly, earnestly. “Go on!”
“Mellington took the lead of every one, mounted on that great steeplechase horse he is so proud of,—no fences too large for him, they say; but the robber—and what a good judge of country the fellow must be—left the heavy ground and preferred even breasting a long hill of grass-land, with several high rails, to the open country below, where the clay soil distressed his horse. By this manoeuvre, says the newspaper, he was obliged to make a circuit which again brought the great body of his pursuers close up with him; and now his dexterity as a horseman became apparent, for while riding at top speed, and handling his horse with the most perfect judgment, he actually contrived to divest himself of his heavy greatcoat. He had but just accomplished this very difficult task, when Lord Mellington once more came up. There was a heavy dike in front, with a double post and rail, and at this they rushed desperately, each, apparently, calculating on the other being thrown, or at least checked.
“Freney, now only a dozen strides in advance, turned in his saddle, and drawing a pistol from his breast, took an aim,—as steadily, too, as if firing at a mark. Lord Mellington saw the dreadful purpose of the robber; he shouted aloud, and, pulling up with all his might, he bent down to the very mane of his horse. Freney pulled the trigger, and with one mad plunge Lord Mellington's horse came headforemost to the ground, with his rider under him. Freney was not long the victor; the racer he bestrode breasted the high rail, and, unable to clear it, fell heavily forward, smashing the frail timbers before him, and pitching the rider on his head. He was up in a second and away; for about twenty yards his speed was immense, then, reeling, he staggered forwards and fell senseless; before he rallied he was taken, and in handcuffs. There is a description of the fellow,” said Lionel, “and, by Jove! one would think they were describing some wild denizen of the woods, or some strange animal of savage life, so eloquent is the paragraph about his appearance and personal strength.”
“A well-knit fellow, no doubt, and more than a match for most in single combat,” said Daly, musing.