"Kind enough!" answered the other, "so long as it costs nothing. They'll find fair words, I grant, and plenty of them, at the rate of a guinea a-piece. It was but yesterday two ladies gave me good-morrow from their coach so heartily, I made sure I must have met them on Taunton race-course or may be in the Cathedral close at Exeter. 'Welcome to London, Doctor,' says one, 'how did you leave your friends in the West?' 'You don't remember _me_, Doctor,' laughs the other, as comely a wench as you'll see this side of Devizes 'but I haven't forgotten you, and I wish I _could_.' So I off with my hat, and up into the coach without another word, thinking for sure I had fallen among friends at last, and would you believe it? the first was an old harridan that might have been my mother, and the second hussy had scarce a tooth in her head, besides being raddled with red paint, and smelling of brandy fit to knock you down! Nay, I have done with your London once for all. If I make good speed, I'll be home in time for Dulverton Feast. I'll have no need to look about for friends there, and I can tell you, Doctor, I've been parched with strong ale and heady port, till I long for a gallon of cider, if it cost me five shillings a quart. Now we'll go to business, by your leave. If you've any more to say in my matters, out with it! Any way, bad or good, let us settle up and part friends!" "I have constrained those to do my bidding who can furnish the intelligence you require," answered Katerfelto solemnly. "To-night, if you have the courage." "Nay, nay!" interrupted the Parson, his jolly face blanching at the suggestion, "your word is quite enough, Doctor. I neither doubt _you_ nor _them_. Name your price, and let us have done with it!" "Go home, then," continued the Charlatan, "with what speed you can make. Amongst your own West-country hills you will find your enemy and the slayer of your kinsman, John Garnet by name; a proper youth, able-bodied, and an expert swordsman. If I bade you spare him, would you listen one moment to my plea?" He was not listening now. "John Garnet," he repeated, "John Garnet," grinding the syllables between his teeth as he branded the name into his memory. "Look out, John Garnet, and keep your hands up the first time you come across Abner Gale!" Katerfelto had seen too much of mankind and their worst passions, to be easily moved; but he felt his blood curdle while he marked the Parson's rubicund cheek turn to a sallow white. If ever there was _murder_ in a man's face, he read it now. Perhaps for one short moment he felt compunction, but the weakness was soon over. "He is better out of the way," thought Katerfelto, "and things must take their course." Thus it fell out that the West-country parson was riding steadily homeward over Marlborough Downs the same evening Lord Bellinger's coach was rifled by the gipsies, and its owner left a captive in the thraldom of his own word of honour till the moon rose.