"_His_ horse," she said. "Now, Purcell, see that you have him arrested. Fly! There's no time to lose. You must get a constable to go with you, I suppose." Purcell disappeared in the bar to make inquiries, and Margaret at once took refuge in her room, and sent for the proprietor himself. The Welsh landlord bustled in, full of politeness and good humor. "Has Dr. Gay, from Regis, Surrey, been here, yesterday or to-day?" demanded the lady. "No, matam, he has not." "Is there no letter lying here for Miss Walsingham, of Regis, Surrey?" "No, inteet, matam, nothing of te sort." She turned suddenly, with a groan, from him, and her dark face grew darker. "Tricked--drawn into a trap! I might have known it--oh, I might have known it!" she murmured, bitterly. "Anyting I can to for you, my tear laty?" asked Mr. Caerlyon, attentively. "Yes; you can send a servant to keep watch at my door until my man returns. And there is a person whom I want arrested upon the charge of attempted murder--the man whose horse your hostler was attending to when the coach arrived. Where is he?" "My Got! _murterer!_" screamed the landlord. "You ton't say that, matam? Oh, the peast! He must pe caught, of course. Put he took fery coot care not to come to _me_, tear laty. He went somewhere into the town, and sent his nak here to pait. I'll keep a coot lookout for him, I promise him, the sneaking scoundrel!" Muttering vituperations, he backed out of the room, and sent a woman to attend the lady, and a great, hulking pot-boy to guard her door.