"I'll shoot if there's any tricks!" warned the highwayman sharply. "And if I shoot," he added grimly, "you'll be dead mutton-same as the guard!" His eyes fell upon Pyke and the lean man, who had disentangled themselves and were glaring at each other. "Well, well, well!" he chuckled. "If it isn't Mr. Prince of the Bow Street Runners! "
"It is," said the lean man between his teeth. "And if it hadn't been for this-this porpoise here, I'd have taken you,Jeremy Craw!"
"Better luck next time, Mr. Prince," grinned Craw. "Let's hope the naval porpoise is less of a fool at sea than he is ashore."
During this exchange Septimus had been cautiously peering to see what had become of Mr. Prince's pistol. As the highwayman finished speaking he spotted it. In the struggle with Pyke it had been dropped on the floor of the coach amongst the straw. Septimus was planning to edge it towards himself with his foot when Jeremy Craw's glance fell on it.
"Pick that up and give it to me!" he snapped. "Not you, Prince - the girl yonder! Quickly!"
Philippa Barry gave a little shudder and then bent to pick up the pistol. Septimus saw a sudden light flame in her eyes. She grabbed the pistol, levelled it swiftly at Craw-and screamed as his grip fastened on her wrist.
"Little vixen!" he snarled. "You'd bite, would you?" He dropped the pistol into his pocket. "You'd have done no harm if you'd pulled trigger-it wasn't cocked. But any more tricks and I'll mark your pretty face for life!"
"By Hector!" roared Pyke, purple in the face. "Would you hurt women, you-you shark?"
"I'll hurt anyone who tries to hurt me. Get into that corner, porpoise - right back where I can see you. Now then."
Jeremy Craw wrenched open the door of the coach and stood with one booted foot on the step, his pistol swinging to cover the five in the coach. Behind him Septimus could see the roadside trees looming dimly through a steamy mist, and a saddled horse cropping the grass.
"Listen here!" snapped Craw. "I'm a toby-man with no time to waste. I've had to shoot the guard and I've got my pal covering the coachman. I want everything you've got in your pockets-and you two females can take off your jewels and rings. No dallying, see? First to make a false move gets a bullet and I'll use the butt on the next."
"You'll swing for this!" gobbled Pyke, shaking with wrath.
"Not on your account, my fancy-man! No more talking fork out! Mr. Prince, I'll thank you to clasp your hands on top of your empty head, where I can see 'em. That's it." He turned to Lady Barry. "You first, madam. Hand over everything, and no harm'll come to you. Keep anything back-and I'll search you. See?"
"I will give you everything I have," said Lady Barry coldly. She took off a necklace, a bracelet, and three rings, and placed them in the highwayman's outstretched palm with her purse. Philippa, her face pale but composed, contributed a little purse and a bracelet. Jeremy Craw looked beyond her at Septimus, who had scarcely moved a muscle since the coach had stopped.
"You boy, there!" he barked, grinning unpleasantly. "You infant in fancy-dress-not dead, are you? Hand over! Money and any other little things you've got!"
"I-I have got a little thing here," faltered Septimus in a childish voice.
His fingers were in his pocket, closing round the "glass egg". It flashed through his mind that as an opportunity for testing it this occasion was unique. His hand came out of his pocket slowly, and then flicked like a lash of a whip. The glass egg flew straight and true for the centre of the black mask. There was a deafening bang, a screech from the highwayman, a whirl of acrid smoke, a fierce cry from Mr. Prince.
Septimus, who had flung himself forward as the home-made bombshell burst, saw through the smoke that Prince had gripped the toby-man's pistol arm and was forcing it down. The pistol fell from the man's hand and simultaneously Craw broke free. Septimus pounced on the fallen pistol and levelled it as the highwayman ran unsteadily for his horse. Jeremy Craw was barely five paces away when Septimus pulled the trigger. The bullet struck high, below the left shoulder, and the highwayman, flinging his arms wide, fell sprawling into the mud of the roadway and lay still.
Septimus and Mr. Prince sprang from the coach together-in time to see a dim flgure galloping away into the mist. Jeremy Craw's "pal" had not waited to see the fate of his leader. The Bow Street Runner bent over the fallen toby-man for a moment and then straightened up.
"All's fine," he said with satisfaction. "He'll live to be strung up at Tyburn."
"The credit is to this young gentleman," said the voice of Lady Barry; she had dismounted from the coach, with Philippa. "If it had not been for him-"
"Without Mr. Prince's quick action, ma'am," Septimus put in swiftly, "my efforts wouldn't have been much use."
"All the same," said Mr. Prince, "you did the trick, sir. I'll see to it that you get a proportion of the reward in due course. But I'd like to know what was in that thing you threw."
"The substance known as Potassium Chlorate," began Septimus, "enclosed with a certain amount of Sulphur in a glass container-"
A hoarse voice from above their heads interrupted him.
"Ladies and sirs," it said, "my guard's been shot dead, pore feller, and that's bad. A celebrated highwayman's been took, and that's good. But good or bad, this 'ere coach 'as got to get to Portsmouth as quick as maybe."
They looked up to see the coachman's round face, somewhat pale after his fright, looking anxiously down at them. Mr. Prince nodded in a business-like fashion.
"Quite right," he said. "I had better explain, my lady, that I'm Dennis Prince of Bow Street, and it's my trade to run down rogues like this Jeremy Craw. I shall take charge of him from now on. And since his wound's not likely to keep him unconscious for long, I shall ask the Lieutenant to help me tie him up. There's rope in the boot of the coach."
Mr. Pyke, who had been standing in the background looking sheepish, gathered the remains of his dignity and stalked forward.
"Hah! Of course, Prince!" he rasped. "I-er-regret jumping on you as I did, but-er-anyone might have made the same mistake."
"You think so?" returned Mr. Prince coldly. "At least, I'm glad Mr. Quinn here made no mistake."
"Hah!" Pyke snorted. "It was the sheerest luck he had that contraption in his pocket."
"I think there was judgment as well as luck, sir," put in Lady Barry. "Neither of them your strong point, alas!"
The look that Lieutenant Pyke threw at Septimus was, as the midshipman afterwards remarked, a scorcher.
"Come!" said the Bow Street man, producing a stout rope from the boot. "Get my man safely tied, and on we go to Portsmouth."
"Mr. Quinn!" growled Lieutenant Pyke between his teeth. "Be so good as to lend a hand here."
Septimus raised his cocked hat.
"Aye aye, sir!" he said.
The London Mail drew up outside the George in Portsmouth half-an-hour behind time, and a crowd gathered from nowhere to watch the captured and scowling Jeremy Craw taken off to the local gaol. Septimus Quinn had to receive the thanks of Lady Barry and Philippa, and give his name and address to Mr. Prince (who assured him that fifty guineas would shortly be placed to his credit in the bank) before he could get away.
It was a relief to escape from the neighbourhood of Lieutenant Pyke, whose wounded pride kept him in a state of ill-temper that would not have disgraced an active volcano. Septimus felt sorry for Philippa's brother Charles, who had to be in the same ship with such a curmudgeon. Possibly, he reflected, his career in the Navy might at some time bring him into contact with Lieutenant Pyke again, but he hoped it would not be for very many years.