The young American looked at the man in surprise; then he felt Dale touch his sleeve, and turned toward him. “Look outside there,” whispered the ex-master’s mate. Ethan did as requested; to his surprise he saw the hook-nosed bearded man, of whom they had bought the clothing a short time before, conversing, with much gesticulation, with the seamen without. “He’s a crimp,” said Dale, in a whisper, “and has betrayed us. The place is surrounded by a press-gang.” “A press-gang!” Ethan stared at his companion. “Yes,” said Dale, with set face; “and as I have had one experience with this sort of gentry before, I don’t care for another.” “The rear door, gentlemen, the rear door,” whispered the pastry cook. “Here they come.” A half dozen seamen crowded into the shop; the boatswain, who still sat nonchalantly upon the corner of the table, said, briefly: “You’ll find over there the two we are after, lads.” He jerked his thumb toward the Americans as he spoke. The hook-nosed man stood in the doorway and grinned with satisfaction. The highwayman still lay back in his chair; his teeth showed, wolf-like, and his strong hands gripped the edge of the table. “The paper,” whispered Ethan. His face was white as he leaned toward Dale and uttered the words. Once more the longed-for dispatch was almost within his reach, and once more it was about to elude him. “Don’t think of that now,” said Dale, guardedly. “It is impossible for us to recover it here. Let us escape first, and help Hatfield to escape if we can. We can gain possession of the dispatch later, if all is well.” The sailors now advanced upon the two. “Do ye strike your colors, shipmates?” asked an old gunner with a laugh. “The king needs men too badly to have likely young chaps such as you run off like this.” He was about to lay hands upon Dale when Ethan struck him a quick, heavy blow that sent him reeling. Dale was up in an instant, and as the men of the press-gang sprang forward, planted blow after blow among them with telling effect. A rush of additional seamen came through the door; Dirk Hatfield was upon his feet, also, by now; his heavy pistol barked sullenly among the crowd and then rose and fell with battering force as he used it hammer like. Ethan found himself shoulder to shoulder with the man for an instant. “When the lights go out,” he said, “make for the rear door.” Hatfield nodded understandingly, striking out viciously all the while. A number of candles had been overturned in the struggle; now only a single branch illuminated the room. Ethan, with a quick pass, knocked this over, also, and the shop was instantly plunged into darkness. “Now,” cried the young American. He and Dale gained the door in the rear; but the highwayman’s nasty temper played its part here, and he paused to deal a shower of blows upon the boatswain, whom he had seized by the throat just as the light was extinguished.