"Who the devil are you?" he exclaimed, "and what are you doing here?"
"I am here on your business," was the unexpected answer. "You're about a tough job, sir, and you'll do it, never fear, but not single-handed."
"I don't know what you mean," replied the other; adding, after a moment's consideration, "did I not see you this afternoon smoking in the taproom of the inn?"
"Very like," said the man, composedly. "I've seen you many more times than ever you've seen me. Why, now, you look quite astonished that a gentleman can be put down by a plain man! Well, it's no use beating about the bush, I'm here to look after you because Thyra bade me come."
"Thyra!" repeated John Garnet, with an air of sudden enlightenment: "what, Waif do you mean? Why you must be Fin Cooper."
"That's my name in your patter," said the gipsy; "now I'll tell you my business. Stay, all that will keep: I hear the roll of wheels. In ten minutes the coach we are both looking for will be plodding up the hill. Go in with a will! Do it your own way, there'll be plenty to help when the time comes. Take what you want, and leave us, Romanies, the pickings. There's half a score here that go share and share alike."
John Garnet had little time to demand an explanation, or indeed to make up his mind. Already he could distinguish Lord Bellinger's coach labouring slowly up a slight ascent, crowned by the clump of trees before mentioned. He withdrew himself into their shelter, and scanned, as well as the failing light permitted, the strength of the party he had determined to attack. It happened that the servant whose duty it was to ride ahead from stage to stage had fallen to the rear; and this accounted for his missing that fore-runner, on whom he had calculated to warn him that his prey was drawing near. This increased the defending force to five; including my lord, a coachman, and two footmen; of whom one carried a blunderbuss, and was impeded moreover by the charge of Mistress Rachel.
Of his own auxiliaries he knew nothing. Wherever the half-score mentioned by Fin Cooper were concealed, not a man but the tall gipsy had yet shown himself, and he seemed unarmed by so much as a stick. Nevertheless, the coach was close upon them now. Lady Bellinger's peevish tones might already be heard from the inside.
Unseen in the black shadow of the trees, he took a pistol from his holsters—Katerfelto standing like a rock—and sighted the near wheeler. Simultaneously with the report of the weapon and two female shrieks, the animal fell dead, shot through the brain, bringing down its coach-fellow across its body, in a confused turmoil of snortings, plungings, and broken harness.