"The bolts, if used, are more likely to keep them out than the distance," said Rosmore; and, although the landlord still smiled, he was quite conscious of the doubt expressed concerning the use of the bolts. Rosmore paused for him to speak, but when he remained silent went on. "We are searching for a rebel now, one Gilbert Crosby. Do you reckon him amongst your good company?" "I might if I had ever heard of him," the landlord answered. "Who is in the house at this moment?" Rosmore asked. "A wench in the kitchen, and myself. My daughter is in the village at the merry-making, and the only other person about the place to-night is the boy who is looking after your horses." "I am sorry to inconvenience you, landlord, but I must make a search. If you're honest you will not mind the inconvenience." "Mind!" the landlord exclaimed. "I like to see a man do his duty, whatever that duty may be, and whatever the man's station may be." "Spoken honestly," said Rosmore. "Watson, you will stay here. Savers, come with me, and you come, too, landlord." The search was a thorough one, and although Rosmore keenly watched the landlord he could discover no sign of fear either in his face or attitude. Watson had nothing to report when they returned to the tap-room. "Tell me, landlord, what persons of quality have you in the near neighbourhood?" Saunders mentioned several names, amongst them Sir Peter Faulkner. "Are we near Sir Peter's? That is good hearing. He will give me a welcome and good cheer." "You take the road through the village," said Saunders. "It's less than five miles to Sir Peter's." "We'll get on our way, then," said Rosmore. Then he turned quickly upon the landlord. "Do you know Galloping Hermit, the highwayman?" "Well, by name. A good many have had the misfortune of meeting him on the West Road yonder. And, to tell the truth, sir, I believe I've seen him once--and without the brown mask, too." "When?" Rosmore asked sharply. "It may be three, perhaps four, months back. A horseman galloped up to the door, just at dusk, and called for ale. He did not dismount, and I took the drink to him myself. There was nothing very noticeable about him, only that his eyes were sharp and restless, and he held his head a little sideways as if he were listening. It was the horse that took my attention rather than the man. It was an animal, sir, you'd not meet the likes of in a week's journey. When the horse had galloped into the shadows of the night I said to myself, there goes the highwayman for a certainty." "And you've never seen him since?" "No, nor shall now, since he was hanged lately at Tyburn." "That was a mistake, landlord. Galloping Hermit is still alive. I have seen him to-night." "Alive!" "Ay, and the horse you describe fits with the animal he was riding." "I hope your honour was not robbed of much." "Of nothing, my good friend," laughed Rosmore, "except of the satisfaction of laying him by the heels."