on the four carbines; but finding that no one followed except
young Harrogate, he turned, brandishing his cutlass to wave the others on.
He beheld the courier still standing slightly astride in the centre of
the grassy ring, his hands in his pockets; and his lean, ironical
Italian face seemed to grow longer and longer in the evening light.

"You thought, Muscari, I was the failure among our schoolfellows,"
he said, "and you thought you were the success. But I have succeeded
more than you and fill a bigger place in history. I have been
acting epics while you have been writing them."

"Come on, I tell you!" thundered Muscari from above.
"Will you stand there talking nonsense about yourself with a woman
to save and three strong men to help you? What do you call yourself?"

"I call myself Montano," cried the strange courier in a voice
equally loud and full. "I am the King of Thieves, and I welcome you all
to my summer palace."

And even as he spoke five more silent men with weapons ready
came out of the bushes, and looked towards him for their orders.
One of them held a large paper in his hand.

"This pretty little nest where we are all picnicking,"
went on the courier-brigand, with the same easy yet sinister smile,
"is, together with some caves underneath it, known by the name of
the Paradise of Thieves. It is my principal stronghold on these hills;
for (as you have doubtless noticed) the eyrie is invisible both from
the road above and from the valley below. It is something better
than impregnable; it is unnoticeable. Here I mostly live, and here