Lord Beachcombe, with the packet tightly clutched in his hand, gave way to a reverie so pleasant and absorbing that he did not notice a slight additional jar in the jolting of the carriage over the ill-paved street. The cause of the jar was the sudden accession of two outside passengers; one on the box beside the coachman, and the other beside the lackey behind. Each of these functionaries, at the same instant, felt the cold contact of a pistol against his ear, and before they could make any outcry, the carriage was going in a different direction. A touch of the whip sent the horses forward at breakneck speed. "Keep quiet and you are safe," said the stranger on the box, and in a moment he slipped over the coachman’s head a bag that served both to gag and blindfold him. The same operation was performed simultaneously upon the footman. Very soon, they turned sharply under an archway, and a heavy gate was slammed behind them. Leaving the coachman on the box, his captor got off and opened the carriage door. "Descend here, Lord Beachcombe," he said, holding up a lantern, which revealed a tall man in a mask and behind him an open door. "What is the meaning of this outrage?" demanded Beachcombe, fumbling at his sword. The masked man, with very little ceremony, hauled him out of the carriage, and disregarding a strenuous resistance, conducted him into a small room, barely furnished and dimly lighted. He then saw that his assailant was almost as richly dressed as himself, and wore a jeweled star and other decorations of great splendor. "What am I brought here for?" he asked, in a more subdued tone, for as his fear of robbery subsided in these surroundings, the fact that he had many and bitter enemies rose up before him. "No harm unless you bring it upon yourself," replied the other. "At worst, an hour or two’s detention and solitude and the loan of your invitation to the duchess’ masquerade." "Your voice sounds familiar to me," said Lord Beachcombe. "Will you not remove your mask, now that we are alone?" The other hesitated. "Is it worth while to keep up this mystery, Captain Freemantle? You see I recognize you." "Since you know me, it is not worth while," replied Robin, unmasking. As he did so, Beachcombe whipped out his sword and rushed upon him. Robin had no time to arm himself, but dodging the onslaught with the agility of a cat, closed upon his assailant with a clever wrestling trick that threw him upon his back half-stunned, and before he could recover, had his hands securely tied behind his back with his gold-fringed sash. "You _would_ have it!" said Robin. "Now I can—" his eye fell upon a packet that had fallen from Beachcombe’s hand, with the superscription upward: "To Mistress Larkyn, "In care of Mine Hostess of "The Fox and Grapes." He picked it up and turned it over, examining the unbroken seals, and glancing from time to time at his captive.