The chariot drew up and the coachman leaned over the side to see who it was bidding them to stop in so peremptory a manner.

“What d’ye want? Who are ye? Is there aught amiss?” he cried testily, and found himself staring at a long-nosed pistol.

“Throw down your arms!”

“I ain’t got none, blast ye!”

“On your honour?” Jack dismounted.

“Ay! Wish I had, and I’d see ye damned afore I’d throw ’em down!”

At this moment the door of the coach opened and a gentleman leapt lightly down on to the road. He was big and loose-limbed as far as Carstares could see, and carried himself with an easy grace.

My lord presented his pistol.