Barbara had whispered to Ruth.
“Back up as fast as you can!”
Ruth had replied in another whisper:
“I can’t before I crank up.”
Regaining her nerve, Ruth was about to leap to the ground when she saw, and the four others saw at the same moment, the figure of a man standing by a tree at the roadside. It would seem that he had been standing there all along, but so still and motionless that he might been one of the trees themselves. And for two reasons he was a terrifying spectacle: one because his features were entirely concealed by a black mask, the other because he carried in one hand a gleaming and remarkably sharp looking knife, a kind of dagger, the blade slightly curved and pointed at the end, the silver handle chased all over in an intricate design.
To her dying day Bab would never forget the picture he made.
He wore a dark green velveteen suit, like a huntsman’s, and a felt hat with a hanging brim that covered his head.
“Pardon me, ladies,” he said in a curious, false voice, “but I must request you to keep your places.”
Ruth, who was poised just over the step, fell back beside Barbara, who had maintained her position, and sat with blanched cheeks and tightly closed lips.
The highwayman then deliberately slashed all four tires with his murderous looking weapon. At each explosion Miss Sallie gave a stifled groan.