“Highwayman it says,” quoth I in frowning perplexity. “But Volney knows I had no mind to rob him. Zounds! What does he mean?”
“Mean? Why, to get rid of you! I tore this down from a tavern wall in London just after ’twas pasted. It seems you forgot to return the gentleman his jewelry.”
I turned mighty red and pleaded guilty.
“I thought so. Gad! You’re like to keep sheep by moonlight,” chuckled Creagh.
“Nonsense! They would never hang me,” I cried.
“Wouldn’t, eh! Deed, and I’m not so sure. The hue and cry is out for you.”
“Havers, man!” interrupted Macdonald sharply. “You’re frightening the lady with your fairy tales, Creagh. Don’t you be believing him, my dear. The hemp is not grown that will hang Kenneth.”
But for all his cheery manner we were mightily taken aback, especially when another rider came in a few minutes later with a letter to me from town. It ran:—
Dear Montagu,
“Once more unto the breach, dear friends.” Our pleasant little game is renewed. The first trick was, I believe, mine; the second yours. The third I trump by lodging an information against you for highway robbery. Tony I shall not implicate, of course, nor Mac-What’s-His-Name. Take wings, my Fly-by-night, for the runners are on your heels, and if you don’t, as I live, you’ll wear hemp. Give my devoted love to the lady. I am,