Rainford rushed in; and, encountering Toby and Jacob, dragged them—or rather hurled them, as if they were two children in his grasp, into the passage. There the light revealed to him their countenances—for their masks had been torn away in the struggle with the landlady; and Rainford was for a few moments so astounded at the recognition of Old Death's agents or confederates, that he was unable to utter a word. "The villains!—the murderers!—the assassins!" cried the landlady, rushing forward, with her hair all in disorder, her garments torn to rags, and the blood streaming from her nose. "Shall I go and fetch a constable, Mr. Rainford?" "No, I thank'ee," returned Tom: "leave me to manage these scoundrels. Here, my love," he continued, addressing himself to the Jewess, who had remained half-way up the stairs, "give me that light, and do you retire to your room. I must speak to these rascals in private. My good woman," he added, turning once more to the landlady, "have the kindness to go up stairs and keep my wife company; and fear nothing—now that I am here." The two women hastened to obey these injunctions; and Rainford, provided with the candle, made an imperative sign for Toby Bunce and Jacob to precede him into the room from which he had dragged them a few minutes previously. "Answer me directly," said Tom, in a stern—resolute manner, as he closed the door behind him, and deliberately drew forth the pistols which he had thrust into the pockets of his white great-coat when he first entered the parlour to rescue the landlady,—"answer me directly—either one of you, I care not which:—what brought you here?" "Jacob knows best, Mr. Rainford," replied Bunce, eyeing the pistols askance. "No—I don't," said the lad, in a sulky tone. "You are game to your employer, I have no doubt, Jacob," ejaculated Rainford. "And now, Toby Bunce, answer for yourself—or, by God! I'll shoot you through the head! In short, what brought you here?" At this moment there was a low knock at the room-door, against which Tom Rain was leaning. "Who's there?" demanded the highwayman. "Me," replied the sepulchral, hollow voice of Old Death. "Ah! the plot thickens," said Tom; and, opening the door, he gave admittance to Mr. Benjamin Bones. "It's all a mistake, Tom—it's the wrong house!" exclaimed Old Death. "You don't know how annoyed I am—you don't indeed!" "Well—I confess I do not," said the highwayman coolly; "and it will take you a long time to persuade me that you are speaking the truth. If it was the wrong house, why didn't these people of yours tell me so when I first questioned them?" "Because I saw you would not believe me," cried Jacob hastily. "And I was so flurried by them barkers," added Toby, pointing to the pistols.