This traveller did not patronise the "Rose and Crown" inn, though the coach changed horses at that hostelry. He alighted from the outside of the coach while it stood before the door of the "Rose and Crown," waited until his small valise had been fished out of the boot, and then departed through the falling snow, carrying this valise, which was his only luggage. He walked at a rapid pace to the other end of the long, straggling street, where there was a humbler inn, called the "Cross Keys." Here he entered, and asked for a bed-room, with a good fire, and something or other in the way of supper. It was not till he had entered the room that the traveller took off the rough outer coat, the collar of which had almost entirely concealed his face. When he did so, he revealed the sallow countenance of Victor Carrington, and the flashing black eyes, which to-night shone with a peculiar brightness. After he had eaten a hasty meal, he went out into the inn-yard, despite the fast-falling snow, to smoke a cigar, he said, to one of the servants whom he encountered on his way. He had not been long in the yard, when a man emerged from one of the adjacent buildings, and approached him in a slow and stealthy manner. "All right, guv'nor," said the man, in a low voice; "I've been on the look-out for you for the last two days." The man was Jim Hawkins, Mr. Spavin's groom. "Is 'Wild Buffalo' here?" asked Victor. "Yes, sir; as safe and as comfortable as if he'd been foaled here." "And none the worse for his journey?" "Not a bit of it, sir. I brought him down by easy stages, knowing you wanted him kept fresh. And fresh he is--oncommon. P'raps you'd like to have a look at him." "I should." The groom led Mr. Carrington to a loose box, and the surgeon had the pleasure of beholding the bay horse by the uncertain light of a stable lantern. The animal was, indeed, a noble specimen of his race. It was only in the projecting eye-ball, the dilated nostril, the defiant carriage of the head, that his evil temper exhibited itself. Victor Carrington stood at a little distance from him, contemplating him in silence for some minutes. "Have you ever noticed that spot?" asked Victor, presently, pointing to the white patch inside the animal's hock. "Well, sir, one can't help noticing it when one knows where to look for it, though p'raps a stranger mightn't see it. That there spot's a kind of a blemish, you see, to my mind; for, if it wasn't for that, the brute wouldn't have a white hair about him." "That's just what I've been thinking," answered Victor. "Now, my friend is just the sort of man to turn up his nose at a horse with anything in the way of a blemish about him, especially if he sees it before he has tried the animal, and found out his merits. But I've hit upon a plan for getting the better of him, and I want you to carry it out for me." "I'm your man, guv'nor, whatever it is."