"There you are in grave error, Master Corporal," remarked the beadle with dignity. "Beau Brocade, permit me to observe, does exist in the flesh. ’Twas only last night Sir Humphrey Challoner’s coach was stopped not three miles from Hartington, and his Honour robbed of fifty guineas, by that pernicious highwayman." "Then you must lay this Beau Brocade by the heels, Master Inch." "Aye! that’s easily said. Lay him by the heels forsooth, and who’s going to do that, pray?" "Nay, that’s your affair. You don’t expect His Grace the Duke of Cumberland to lend you a portion of his army, do you?" "His Grace might do worse. Beau Brocade is a dangerous rascal to the quality." "Only to the quality?" "Aye, he’ll not touch a poor man; ’tis only the rich he is after, and uses but little of his ill-gotten gain on himself." "How so?" asked the Corporal, eagerly, for in spite of the excitement of camp life round about Derby, the fame of the daring highwayman had ere now tickled the fancy of the young soldiers of the Duke of Cumberland’s army. "Why, I told you Sir Humphrey Challoner was robbed on the Heath last night—robbed of fifty guineas, eh?" said Master Inch, whispering in eager confidence. "Well, this morning, when Squire West arrived at the court-house, he found fifty guineas in the poor box." "Well?" "Well, that’s not the first time nor yet the second that such a matter has occurred. The dolts round about here, the lads from Brassington or Aldwark, or even from Wirksworth, would never willingly lay a hand on Beau Brocade. The rascal knows it well enough, and carries on his shameful trade with impunity." "Odd’s fish! but meseems the trade is not so shameful after all. What is the fellow like?" "Nay, no one has ever seen his face, though his figure on the Moor is familiar to many. He is always dressed in the latest fashion, hence the villagers have called him Beau Brocade. Some say he is a royal prince in disguise—he always wears a mask; some say he is the Pretender, Charles Stuart himself; others declare his face is pitted with smallpox; others that he has the face of a pig, and the ears of a mule, that he is covered with hairs like a spaniel, or has a blue skin like an ape. But no one knows, and with half the villages on the Heath to aid and abet him, he is not like to be laid by the heels." "A fine story, Master Inch," laughed the Corporal. "And is there no reward for the capture of your pig-faced, hairy, blue-skinned royal prince disguised as a common highwayman?" "Aye, a reward of a hundred guineas," said Mr Inch, in a whisper that was hardly audible above the murmur of the wind. "A hundred guineas for the capture of Beau Brocade." The Corporal gave a long significant whistle. "And no one bold enough to attempt the capture?" he said derisively. Mr Inch shook his head sadly. "No one could do it single-handed; the rascal is cunning as well as bold, and..."