barrier, that would do more damage than it could receive from any
attempt of theirs.

"Bring out the key, rascal," roared the postilion again.

"An' you please, measter," says I, appearing in the doorway, "I be
afeared the key bin lost."

Then the man on the box scrambled down, and ran into the cottage.
With him I hunted in every nook and corner of the room, and there
being no sign of the key we went out, and to the other side of the
coach, and there I heard the coach door open, and the voice cried:

"Hold the leader, Jabez; and you, Tom, go to the wheelers' heads.
I'll blow in the cursed lock with my pistol."

Slipping back so that I might not be seen, I peeped through the
window and saw Cyrus Vetch, pistol in hand, moving towards the
gate. Here I was in a wretched quandary. I glanced anxiously up the
road: there was never a sign of Mr. Allardyce or any other pursuer.
To blow in the lock would be the work of a second: then nothing I
could do would prevent the coach from passing through and getting
clean away.

I was ready to despair when a possible means of checkmate flashed
into my mind. Vetch was within a yard of the gate; his two men were
at the horses' heads, to hold them when the report of the pistol
came; their eyes were fixed on their master. As lightly as I could
(my boots being heavy, as the long service required of them
demanded) I darted through the doorway, my right hand clasping my
knife, hid behind my back. Running to the side of the horse nearest
me I set to a-hacking with all my strength at the leathern trace.
Thank Heaven my knife was new and unblunted! But I had not
succeeded in cutting the leather through when the pistol cracked
and the lock burst. The startled horses immediately began to rear
and plunge, so violently that the single man at the wheelers' heads
could not hold them. Vetch ran to assist him; none of them had
noticed that the violence of the horses' straining had completed my
unfinished work: the trace snapped in two.

Pulling itself free the horse swung round, and plunged more
violently than before, keeping the man Tom employed and serving
also to screen me from view. Now was my opportunity. I wrenched
open the shuttered door, and saw a man leaning with his body out of
the other door, watching the movements of Vetch. And between us,
shrinking back on the seat, was Mistress Lucy. She turned her head
as I pulled the door open, and holding on to it to preserve my
balance, for th