"Where's that scoundrel Rosmore?" he cried. "He would take Crosby of Lenfield, would he? Well, now is his chance; and in taking him he will capture an even more notorious person, whom, rumour says, he has long desired to meet."
"Now I know!" Rosmore exclaimed as he flung himself into the saddle. "After him, and shout, all of you, to put the men in the woods on the alert."
The horseman turned and galloped across the park in a slanting direction.
"Don't ride too close, Rosmore," he shouted over his shoulder, "for I seldom miss the mark I aim at."
He suddenly altered his course. It was deftly done, and served to gain him a few yards on his pursuers.
"To the right and left to cut him off!" cried Rosmore. "We have him. The chase is over before it has well begun."
Well might he say so, for the fugitive was galloping straight towards a stiff fence that few horses would face and few horsemen would hazard their necks over.
He turned again and laughed, but rode straight on. The next moment, with inches to spare, the gallant animal had cleared the fence and dropped into the wood beyond.
A cry of wonder came from the men who were following him, a curse from Lord Rosmore, for the rider was the highwayman Galloping Hermit, and wore the brown mask.