And then the sunlight faded and the greyness of the gloaming crept up from the sea.
Clink, clink, went the chains upon the forlorn gibbet tree, and with a deeper rustier note as the wood groaned and shuddered in its joints.
He walked slowly up the sloping sandy path. Above him, black above the evening sky swung the dead man—some poor soul less guilty of wrong maybe than he himself.
Then sitting upon a heap of sand beside the dreary burden with its dismal refrain he waited for what might befall. That there was danger afoot he knew instinctively, but his great reliance upon Muckle John seemed to almost dissipate such perils. There was a mountain of strength in Muckle John.
The darkness was falling fast when of a sudden, like the spring of a leopard for swiftness, a man was upon his back and with the crook of his arm around his throat. Uttering one faint cry Rob tumbled backwards, and before he could struggle to his feet, his legs were gripped by another man and a third flung himself bodily upon his chest.
As far as Rob was concerned the question of France was over and done with. It was a sad enough ending to all his brave adventures to be bowled over by three vagabonds on Leith sands, and trussed like a hen.
But there was more in it than that.
For out of the twilight came a tall man walking at his leisure, and even before he spoke Rob knew him for Captain Strange.
"Well," he said quietly, "so this is the end, Rob, and what a braw place to be sure. It was almost tempting providence with that clinking cratur to warn ye."
He motioned to the men to leave them, and sitting down began to talk in an affable pleasant manner as though he were discussing the weather or the price of stocks.