"Your voice sounds familiar to me," said Lord Beachcombe. "Will you not remove your mask, now that we are alone?" The other hesitated. "Is it worth while to keep up this mystery, Captain Freemantle? You see I recognize you."
"Since you know me, it is not worth while," replied Robin, unmasking. As he did so, Beachcombe whipped out his sword and rushed upon him. Robin had no time to arm himself, but dodging the onslaught with the agility of a cat, closed upon his assailant with a clever wrestling trick that threw him upon his back half-stunned, and before he could recover, had his hands securely tied behind his back with his gold-fringed sash.
"You would have it!" said Robin. "Now I can—" his eye fell upon a packet that had fallen from Beachcombe's hand, with the superscription upward:
"To Mistress Larkyn,
"In care of Mine Hostess of
"The Fox and Grapes."
He picked it up and turned it over, examining the unbroken seals, and glancing from time to time at his captive.
"So you found a traitor in the camp," he said, at last. "Let him beware—but, tush! I know who it is; it can be no other than Samuel. I need not interfere with him; he will find his own way to the gallows soon enough. I'm afraid I shall have to search you, my friend. You may as well take it quietly; you know I'm an expert at discovering hidden treasure."
Lord Beachcombe, however, would not submit quietly, so Robin bound him securely to a chair and instituted a rigorous search, which revealed nothing except the emblazoned note of invitation to the ball. So, warning his prisoner that any outcry would lead to rough treatment from those who were left in charge of him, Robin withdrew, taking with him the packet and the invitation, and also Beachcombe's sword and the lamp, and leaving him to darkness and reflection.
CHAPTER XIV