"Now I will fetch the cart."
He had been gone but five minutes, when they heard a vehicle stop
at the door. The others lifted the highwayman by his shoulders and
feet, carried him out, and laid him in the cart. Tony closed the
door quietly behind them, and then jumped up by the side of the
driver, who at once started the horse at a brisk trot. They crossed
Westminster Bridge, and, after another ten minutes' drive, stopped
at a small house standing back from the road, in a garden of its
own.
"We will carry him in, Tony," Charlie said, "if you will get the
door open."
They carried him in through the door, at which a woman was
standing, into a room, where they saw, to their satisfaction, a
blazing fire. The prisoner was laid down on the ground. Leaving him
to himself, Charlie and his friends sat down to the table, which
was laid in readiness. Two cold chickens, and ham, and bread had
been placed on it.
"Now, Tony, sit down. You must be as hungry as we are."
"Thank you, gentlemen. I am going to have my breakfast in the
kitchen, with my wife."
As he spoke, the woman came in with two large tankards full of
steaming liquid, whose odour at once proclaimed it to be spiced
ale.
"Well, wife, we have done a good night's work," Tony said.
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