Involuntarily Carstares’ hand caressed his perfectly smooth chin. Either the little clerk was a born romancer, or for some reason or other he did not want the highwayman to be taken.

“Well, Sir Anthony?” the mayor was saying. “Does that description fit your man?”

My lord frowned thoughtfully.

“Tall,” he said slowly, “and fat⁠—you said fat, I think, Mr. Chilter?”

Rather anxiously Mr. Chilter reiterated this statement.

“Ah! And with a long scar⁠—yes, that is undoubtedly he. Furthermore,” he added audaciously, “he has a squint in his left eye. ’Tis a most ill-favoured rogue in all.”