"If ye will be so kind as to give me your word of honour ye'll not be afther trying to escape, I should be greatly obliged. But I tell ye first that if ye attempt to move, I shall shoot."
Jack made a hopeless gesture with his hand. He felt dazed. The whole thing was ridiculous; how Miles would laugh afterwards. He went cold. There would be no "afterwards." . . . Miles would never know. . . He would be given over to the authorities, and Miles would never know that he had helped Jack Carstares to the scaffold. . . . Perhaps, too, he would not mind so very much, now that he, Jack, was so disgraced. One could never tell; even if he risked everything now, and told his true identity, Miles might turn away from him in disgust; Miles, who could never stoop to a dishonourable act. Carstares felt that he would bear anything sooner than face this man's scorn. . . .
"Never tell me 'tis a dumb man ye are, for I heard ye shout meself! Do ye give me your word of honour, or must I have ye bound?"
Carstares pulled himself together and set his teeth as he faced the inevitable. Escape was impossible; Miles would shoot, he felt sure, and then his disguise would be torn away and his friend would see that Jack Carstares was nothing but a common highwayman. Whatever happened, that must not be, for the sake of the name and Richard. So he quietly held out his hands.
"Ay, I give my word, but ye can bind me if ye choose." It was his highwayman voice: raucous, and totally unlike his own.
But O'Hara's eyes were fixed on the slender white hands held out to him. In his usual haphazard fashion, Jack had quite forgotten to grime his hands. They were shapely and white, and carefully manicured.
Miles took either wrist in his large hands and turned them palm upwards in the moonlight.
"Singularly white hands ye have, for one in your profession," he drawled, and tightened his hold as Jack tried to draw them away. "No, ye do not! Now be so good as to step within, me friend."
Jack held back an instant.
"My mare?" he asked, and O'Hara noted the anxiety in his voice.
"Ye need not be after worrying about her," he said. "George!"
The footman sprang forward.
"Yessir?"
"Ye see that mare? I want ye to ride her home. Can ye do it?"
"Yessir!"
"I doubt it," murmured Jack.
So did Jenny. She refused point blank to allow this stranger to mount her. Her master had left her in one spot, and there she would stand until he chose to bid her move. In vain did the groom coax and coerce. She ran round him and seemed a transformed creature. She laid her ears flat and gnashed at the bit, ready to lash out furiously at the first opportunity.
Jack watched the man's futile struggles with the ghost of a smile about his lips.
"Jenny!" he said quietly, and O'Hara looked round at him sharply, frowning. Unconsciously, he had spoken naturally, and the voice was faintly familiar.
Jenny twitched the bridle from the perspiring groom and minced up to the prisoner.
"Would ye allow me to have a hand free-sir?" he asked. "Mebbe I can manage her."
Without a word Miles released him, and he caught the bridle, murmuring something unintelligible to the now quiet animal.
O'Hara watched the beautiful hand stroke her muzzle reassuringly, and frowned again. No ordinary highwayman this.
"Mount her now, will 'ee?" Jack flung at the groom, and kept a warning hand on the rein as the man obeyed. With a final pat he turned away. "She'll do now, sir."
O'Hara nodded.
"Ye've trained her well. Get in, please."
Jack obeyed, and in a minute or two O'Hara jumped in after him, and the coach began to move forward.
For a while there was silence, Carstares keeping himself well under control. It was almost unbearable to think that after this brief drive he would never set eyes on his friend again, and he wanted so badly to turn and grasp that strong hand. . . .
Miles turned in his seat and tried to see the masked face in the darkness.
"Ye are a gentleman?" he asked, going straight to the point.
Jack was prepared for this.
"Me, sir? Lor' no, sir!"
"I do not believe ye. Don't be forgettin' I've seen your hands!"
"Hands, sir?" in innocent bewilderment
"Sure, ye don't think I'd be believing ye an ordinary rogue, with hands like that?"
"I don't rightly understand ye, sir?"
"Bejabers then, ye'll be understanding me tomorrow!"
"To-morrow, sir?"
"Certainly. Ye may as well tell me now as then. I'm not such a daft fool as I look, and I know a gentleman when I see one, even an he does growl at me as you do!" he chuckled. "And I'd an odd feeling I knew ye when ye spoke to the mare. I'd be loth to send a friend to the gallows."
How well Jack knew that soft, persuasive voice. His hands clenched as he forced himself to answer:
"I don't think I've ever seen ye afore, sir."
"Maybe ye have not. We shall see to-morrow."
"What do ye mean by to-morrow, sir?" ventured Carstares uneasily.
"Sure, ye will have the honour of appearing before me, me friend."
"Before you, sir?"
"Why not? I'm a Justice of the Peace, heaven save the mark!"
There was a breathless pause, and then at last the funny side of it struck Jack, and his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. The exquisite irony of it was almost too much for him. He, the Earl of Wyncham, was to be formally questioned by his friend St. Miles O'Hara, J.P.!
"What ails ye now, man? Ye find it amusing?" asked Miles, surprised.
"Oh, Lud, yes!" gasped Jack, and collapsed into his corner.
CHAPTER IX LADY O'HARA INTERVENES
LADY O'HARA found that her big, indolent husband was unusually silent next morning at breakfast. She had not been married long enough to consent to being practically ignored, no matter what the time of day, but she had been married quite long enough to know that before she took any direct action against him, she must first allow him to assuage his appetite. Accordingly she plied him with coffee and eggs, and with a satisfied and slightly motherly air, watched him attack a sirloin of beef. She was a pretty, birdlike little lady, with big eyes, and soft brown curls escaping from under a demure but very becoming mob cap. She measured five foot nothing in her stockings, and was sometimes referred to by her large husband as the Midget. Needless to say, this flippant appellation was in no wise encouraged by the lady.
She decided that Miles had come to the end of his repast, and, planting two dimpled elbows on the table, she rested her small chin in her hands and looked across at him with something of the air of an inquisitive kitten.
"Miles!"
O'Hara leaned back in his chair, and at the sight of her fresh prettiness his brow cleared and he smiled.
"Well, asthore?"
A reproachful finger was raised and a pair of red lips pouted adorably.
"Now, Miles, confess you've been vastly disagreeable this morning. Twice have I spoken to you and you've not troubled to answer me-nay, let me finish! And once you growled at me like a nasty bear! Yes, sir, you did!"
"Did I now, Molly? 'Tis a surly brute you're after thinking me, then? Troth, and I've been sore perplexed, me dear."
Lady O'Hara got up and sidled round to him.
"Have you so, Miles?"
He flung an arm about her and drew her on to his knee.
"Sure, yes, Molly."
"Well then, Miles, had you not better tell me what it is that troubles you?" she coaxed, laying a persuasive hand on his shoulder.
He smiled up at her.
"'Tis just an inquisitive puss you are!"
Again the pout.
"And ye should not pout your pretty lips at me if ye are not wanting me to kiss them!" he added, suiting the action to the word.
"But of course I do!" cried my lady, returning the kiss with fervour. "Nay, Miles, tell me."
"I see ye mean to have the whole tale out of me, so-"
"To be sure I do!" she nodded.
He laid a warning finger on her lips and summoned up a mighty frown.