Both through the back and the front door a crowd of excited soldiers had pushed their way into the inn, whilst the folk in the bar-parlour, attracted by the sudden noise, pressed out into the narrow passage to see what was happening. John Stich, foremost amongst these, made a rush for Patience’s side. She found herself suddenly pressed back towards the foot of the stairs, and face to face with a noisy group of village folk, through which the Sergeant and some half-dozen soldiers were roughly pushing their way. She looked round her, helpless and bewildered. Jack Bathurst had disappeared. The whole thing had occurred in the brief space of a few seconds, even before Patience had had time to realise that anything was amiss. The narrow staircase, at the foot of which she now stood, led straight up to the private parlour, where Philip was even now awaiting her return. "Out of the way, you rascals," the Sergeant was shouting, whilst elbowing his way through the small group of gaping yokels, and pressing forward towards the stairs. "Will your ladyship allow me the privilege of conducting you out of this crowd?" said a suave voice at Patience’s elbow. Sir Humphrey Challoner, closely followed by the obsequious Mittachip, had pushed his way into the inn, in the wake of the soldiers, and was now standing between her and the crowd, bowing very deferentially and offering her his arm, to conduct her upstairs. But a few moments ago he had heard the startling news that Jock Miggs had been captured on the Heath, in mistake for Beau Brocade. As far as Sir Humphrey could ascertain nothing of importance had been found on the shepherd’s person, and in a moment he realised that, through almost supernatural cunning, the highwayman must have succeeded in filching the letters, and by now had no doubt once more restored them to Lady Patience. All the scheming, the lying, the treachery of the past few days had therefore been in vain; but Sir Humphrey Challoner was not the man to give up a definite purpose after the first material check to his plans. If her ladyship was once more in possession of the letters, they must be got away from her again. That was all. And if that cursed highwayman was still free to-day, ’sdeath but he’ll have to hang on the morrow. In the meanwhile Philip’s momentary safety was a matter of the greatest moment to Sir Humphrey Challoner. If that clumsy lout of a Sergeant got hold of the lad, all Sir Humphrey’s schemes for forcing Lady Patience’s acceptance of his suit by means of the precious letters would necessarily fall to the ground. But instinctively Patience recoiled from him; his suave words, his presence near her at this terrible crisis, frightened her more effectually than the Sergeant’s threatening attitude. She drew close to John Stich, who had interposed his burly figure between the soldiers and the foot of the stairs.