I found
that in the ruins, just where he stumbled last night. He dropped it,"
and Barbara held out the brown mask which she had drawn from her dress.
Martin took it and turned it this way and that.
"He did not tell me that he was Galloping Hermit the highwayman," she
said.
"Very strange," said Martin. "Another might have dropped it. Many men
tramped that spot that evening. Sir John, Lord Rosmore, and a dozen
others."
"Yes, and later, Mr. Fellowes," said Barbara. "He came with a despatch
calling Lord Rosmore back into Dorsetshire."
"Might not Mr. Fellowes have dropped it?" Martin asked.
"He might. You may find many possibilities, but not probabilities."
"The famous mask," mused Fairley, "and you find it, mistress. For my
part I have had a kindly thought for the wearer. There are tales about
him which make him different from other highwaymen."
"Yes, Martin, I know, but I had almost--ah! you would not understand."
"I saw the beam of light, and it has now gone out, you say. This wisp of
brown silk has extinguished it. But consider, might there not be some
great purpose for a man taking to the road?"
"There might, Martin.
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