As they turned, the heavy handle of John's Thorndyke's whip fell with tremendous force on the head of the last man. “What the devil is that?” the other exclaimed, snatching out a pistol and turning round, as the falling body struck him, but he got no further. Again the heavy whip descended, this time on his right arm; it dropped useless by his side, and the pistol fell from his hand. Then John Thorndyke fell upon him and bore him to the ground, snatched the other pistol from his belt, and held it to his head. “Now, my man,” he said quietly, “if you don't surrender I will blow out your brains.” “I surrender,” the man moaned. “I believe that you have broken my arm. Curse you, whoever you are.” The struggle between John Knapp and young Bastow was soon over. The young fellow was lithe and sinewy, but he was no match for the constable, who, indeed, had almost overpowered him before he was aware what had happened. “Has he got pistols, Knapp?” the Squire asked. “Yes, sir, a brace of them; I have got them both safely in my pocket. There,” he went on, as a sharp click was heard, “I have got the darbys on him. Now shall I help you, sir?” “You had better run downstairs first and light a couple of candles at the kitchen fire: you will find a pair standing on the parlor table. Don't be long about it; the first fellow I hit was stunned, and he may come round any moment.” “I will make sure of him before I go, Squire. I have got another pair of darbys in my pocket.” As soon as he had fastened these upon the wrists of the insensible man he ran downstairs, and in a minute returned with the candles. “I am glad that you are back,” the Squire said. “I was afraid that young rascal would try to escape.” “I took good care of that, Squire; you see I put one of his arms round the bedpost before I slipped the darbys on, and he cannot get away unless he takes the whole bed with him; and as I don't think he would get it out either by the window or the door, he is as safe here as he would be in Newgate. What is the next thing to do, Squire?” “You had better tie this fellow's legs. I will leave you a candle here, and you can keep guard over them while I go and wake Mr. Bastow.” The Rector needed no waking; he was walking up and down his room in great distress. He had not undressed, but had thrown himself upon his bed. “What has happened, Thorndyke?” he asked as the Squire entered. “I heard two heavy falls, and I felt that something terrible had taken place.”