Next instant Sir John had plucked forth his pistols, dismounted and, entering the inn, beheld Sturton and his fellows staring around them and upon each other in speechless, wondering dismay, for save for themselves the place was empty; Mr. Potter, it seemed, had vanished into thin air. It was a proportionate, fair-sized room with sanded floor, beamed ceiling and a wide hearth, where burned a cheery fire screened by a huge, high-backed settle. “Muster Sturton, sir,” quoth one man, glancing uneasily about, “I don’t like this, blind me if I do.... A man as wanishes afore a man’s werry eyes ain’t nat’ral, an’ I don’t loike it.” “No more don’t I,” added a second. “One moment theer ’e was, plain to see, the next ’e ducks be’ind the settle yonder—you seen ’im duck, Sir—an’ then ... well ... ’e ain’t!” “Hold y’r tongues!” boomed Mr. Oxham, striding forward at this juncture, cherishing bruised face with one hand, whip brandished in the other. “You, Sturton, where is he? What’s come o’ the rogue?” “Aye—what?” answered Sturton, his gaze wandering. “I was close on him when he slipped behind this here settle, and then—well, he ain’t here now, Oxham! And I swear he never reached door!” “But, damme,” roared Mr. Oxham, fetching the settle a resounding blow with his whip, “he must be ’ereabouts somewhere, man!” “Aye, but—where?” “Skulking in some hole or corner——” “Why, then—find him, Oxham!” Hereupon Mr. Oxham roared for Peter Bunkle, the landlord; and after some while Mr. Bunkle condescended to become visible, a shortish, broad-shouldered man whose sturdy middle was swathed in snowy apron and whose eyes were round and wide with innocent inquiry; to whom Mr. Oxham, with much whip-flourishing, set forth the tale of Mr. Potter’s so sudden disappearance, demanding instant elucidation thereof under pain of dire penalties to all and sundry. “What, Jarge Potter vanished again, says you?” inquired Mr. Bunkle, faintly interested. “Well, wot o’ that—Lord, is this arl? Why, folks be allus a-disappearin’ ’ereabouts—specially Jarge Potter; it do be gettin’ quite an’ ’abit wi’ him. But, bless ye, doan’t ye go a-worryin’—Jarge’ll come back safe an’ sound, ’e allus do—if ye wait long enough.” “Now you, Bunkle, look’ee here!” boomed Mr. Oxham, whip a-flourish. “We know as there’s a cargo to be run to-night somewheres——” “Cargo?” repeated Mr. Bunkle, vastly astonished. “Oh? What of? Run where?” “You know that well enough, Bunkle, but no matter! We want Potter. Lord Sayle knows ’e be one o’ the ringleaders, and he’s sent us to tak’ him, and tak’ him we will.” “Well, then, tak’ him,” nodded Mr. Bunkie, “an’ I’ll get back to my cookin’—as fine a jugged-’are——” “Where is he? Speak up!” “Who?” “Why, Potter, damme!” “Lord, bean’t ye a-tellin’ me as he be vanished, an’ if he be vanished, I suppose vanished ’e be——” “Where to, dang ye—where?”