said; and pocketing my paper, I set off with the intention of overtaking
him.

As I have already observed, the field way was little frequented, most
people preferring the high-road as being equally direct and, except in the
height of summer, both dryer and less lonesome.

After traversing two or three fields the foot-path ran through a thick
wood, once part of the great forest of Essex, then descending into a deep
hollow, it made a sudden bend and crossed a rambling old brook by a
dilapidated bridge.

As I reached the bend I heard a shout, and looking down I saw what at
first sight (the day being on the wane and the wood gloomy) I took to be
three men amusing themselves with a little cudgel-play. But a second
glance showed me that something much more like murder than cudgel-play was
going on; and shortening my Irish blackthorn, I rushed at breakneck speed
down the hollow.

I was just in time. Mr. Fortescue, with his back against the tree, was
defending himself with his sword-stick against the two Italians, each of
whom, armed with a long dagger, was doing his best to get at him without
falling foul of the sword.

The rascals were so intent on their murderous business that they neither
heard nor saw me, and, taking them in the rear, I fetched the
guitar-player a crack on his skull that stretched him senseless on the
ground, whereupon the other villain, without more ado, took to his heels.

"Thank you," said Mr. Fortescue, quietly, as he put up his weapon. "I