“By heavens, Bob!” exclaimed Sir John, grim-lipped. “’Tis a murderer’s hat and might be a magistrate’s! Note its sober cock, its generous proportions, its eminent respectability! Have ye ever seen it, ere now, Bob?” “Aye, I have, sir!” answered the Corporal, scowling at the thing he held. “’Tis a hat in a thousand, Bob, and mayhap shall aid a rogue to the gallows.... And now, prithee, look to this arm o’ mine.” Deftly the Corporal unbuttoned and rolled back sleeve and ruffled wrist-band, discovering an ugly graze that scored Sir John’s arm from elbow to wrist. “Painful, sir?” “The smart is tolerable,” answered Sir John, wincing a little as the Corporal lapped the wound in the neckerchief he had whipped off for the purpose—“tolerable, Bob, and may be a blessing in disguise.” “How so, your honour?” “Nay, dispatch, Bob; the sooner we are away from here the better.... They may try again, so hurry, man!” The bandage in place, the Corporal sprang to saddle and, setting spurs to their willing horses, they had soon left that place of danger far behind. “Now, talking o’ pistol-balls and blessings in disguise, your honour?” questioned the Corporal at last. “With my arm thus, Bob, I am free to meet my Lord Sayle whenever I will.” “But, sir, his wound should be nigh well by now and your arm will be mighty stiff to-morrow.” “But not too stiff to kill him.” “Kill?” repeated the Corporal, and, glancing at his master’s pale, set face, said no more. “When we fought at the ‘White Hart’ I might ha’ reached him time and again, but held my hand because of the oath I swore five years agone.” “Aye, your honour, and to be sure an oath is ever an’ always an oath!” nodded the Corporal. “Hum!” quoth Sir John, eyeing the Corporal a little askance. “But to-day, Bob, I know him for a thing the world were well rid of ... and yet I will confess to a foolish prejudice, a ridiculous qualm at the idea of having the fellow’s death on my hands. And yet this hath nothing whatever to do with my oath.” Here Sir John became thoughtful, whereupon the Corporal reined half a length to the rear, and thus they journeyed in silence, until they were come in sight of the cross-roads. Now, against the finger-post one of my Lord Sayle’s bills had been set up, and before this they espied a stalwart man busily reading by the aid of a short, though formidable bludgeon with which he ticked off each word, letter by letter; this, though a somewhat laborious business, seemed to afford the reader no small pleasure, for more than once he chuckled, and it was with a smile upon his face that he now turned to greet them, touching bludgeon to eyebrow in salute. “What, Mr. Potter!” exclaimed Sir John. “Where ha’ you been these last few days?” “Here and theer, Mus’ Derwent—mostly theer.” “And how are you?” “Never better, sir.” “Do you chance to have seen a man pass who has lost his hat?” “Nary a one, sir.” “Why, then, perchance you can recognise the hat—show it him, Bob.”