"John Stich, the blacksmith over at the crossroads, is his ally and his friend. Most folk think ’tis he always gives news to the rogue whene’er a coach happen to cross the Moor. But that’s as it may be. If your Honour will call at the forge just before sunset, you’ll mayhap see a chestnut horse tethered there and there’ll be a stranger talking to John Stich; a stranger young and well-looking. He’s oft to be seen at the forge. The folk about here never ask who the stranger is, for all have heard of the chivalrous highwayman who robs the rich and gives to the poor. He! he! he! Do you call at the forge, Sir Humphrey, you can arrange this little matter there.... Your news and offer of money will get to Beau Brocade, never fear." Sir Humphrey was silent. All the boisterous jollity had gone out of his face, leaving only a dark scowl behind, which made the ruddy face look almost evil in its ugliness. Mittachip viewed him with ill-concealed satisfaction. The plan had indeed found favour with his Honour; it was quick, daring, sure: the fortune of a lifetime upon one throw. Sir Humphrey, even before the attorney had finished speaking, had resolved to take the risk. He himself was safe in any case, nothing could connect his name with that of the notorious highwayman who had cut his purse but the night before. "I’d not have her hurt," was the first comment he made after a few minutes’ silent cogitation. "Hurt?" rejoined Mittachip. "Why should she be hurt? Beau Brocade would not hurt a pretty woman. He’ll get the letters from her, I’ll stake my oath on that." "Aye! and blackmail me after that to the end of my days. My good name would be at the mercy of so damned a rascal." "What matter, Sir Humphrey, once Lady Patience is your wife and her fortune in your pocket? Everything is fair in love, so I’ve been told." Sir Humphrey ceased to argue. Chivalry and honour had long been on the losing side. "Moreover, Sir Humphrey," added the crafty attorney, slily, "once you have the letters, you can denounce the rogue yourself, and get him hanged safely out of your way." "He’d denounce me." "And who’d believe the rascal’s word against your Honour’s flat denial? Not Squire West, for sure, before whom he’d be tried, and your Honour can have him kept in prison until after your marriage with Lady Patience." It seemed as if even reason would range herself on the side of this daring plan. There seemed practically no risk as far as Sir Humphrey himself was concerned, and every chance of success, an that rascal Beau Brocade would but consent. "He would," asserted Mittachip, "an your Honour told him that the coach, the money, and the letters belonged to Lady Rounce, and the young lady travelling in the coach but a niece of her ladyship. Lady Rounce is a hard woman who takes no excuse from a debtor. He! he! he! she has the worst reputation in the two counties, save your Honour!"