CHAPTER XCIV.

THE COINER AND THE SPY--A REGULAR DUST-UP, AND WHAT CAME OF IT--THE CHASE--AN ODD ESCAPE--HUNTING IN THE HAY--A ROUGH CUSTOMER DONE FOR.

When Lenoir had puzzled himself for some time over the mysterious disappearance of Herbert Murray, he made a discovery.

The window was open, a circumstance which he had until then, in the most unaccountable manner imaginable, overlooked.

But when he got to the window and looked out, there were no signs of the object of his search.

He had followed so sharply that Murray could not have had time to get off.

He looked up and down the road eagerly.

The only thing in sight was a wagon-load of hay drawn by a team of horses, at whose head plodded a waggoner in a blue cotton blouse, whip in hand.

"_Hé, la-bas!_" shouted the coiner from the window.

The waggoner turned and looked eagerly up.

"_Qu'avez-vous?_" demanded the waggoner. "What's the matter?"

"Have you seen anyone jump out of window?" shouted Lenoir.

The waggoner responded tartly, for he fancied that his questioner was trying to chaff him.

"I've seen no one mad enough for that; in fact I've seen no one madder than you since I've been in this part of the country."

"_Espèce de voyou!_" cried the irritable Lenoir, "_je te ficherais une danse si j'avais le temps pour t'apprendrs ce que c'est que la politesse_. I'd dust your jacket for you if I had the time to teach you politeness."

"You're not likely to have time enough for that, as long as you live, _espéce de pignouf_."

"Idiot!"

"_Imbécile!_"

This interchange of compliments appeared to relieve the belligerent parties considerably.

Lenoir was obliged to give it up for a bad job.

Suddenly a singular idea shot into his head.

The hay cart!

What if Herbert Murray had got into it unseen and was there now, without his presence being suspected by the waggoner?

Lenoir reflected for a moment.

Then he darted down the stairs in pursuit of the waggon.

"Hullo, there, driver!" he shouted.

The waggoner looked over his shoulder and recognised Lenoir.

So he whipped up.

The best pace that even a stout team of horses could put on, with a big load of hay behind them was not to say racehorse speed, so the coiner soon caught them up.

The waggoner awaited his approach, grasping his whip with a nervous grip that foreboded mischief.

On came Lenoir.

"I say, my friend," he called out, "I think you have a man concealed in the cart!"

"_Va-t-en!_--get out!" retorted the waggoner.

"I am serious. Will you oblige me by pulling up and looking?"

"Not exactly."

Lenoir had a very limited stock of patience, and he soon came to the end of it.

He ran to the leading horse and pulled it up sharply.

The waggoner swore and lashed up.

But Lenoir, turning his attention next to the shaft horse, pulled the waggon up to a standstill.

And the waggoner, furious at this, lashed Lenoir.

The whip caught him round the head and shoulders, curling about so that the man could not get it free.

Lenoir caught at the thong, and with a sudden jerk, brought the waggoner down from his seat.

Now began as pretty a little skirmish as you could wish to see.

The waggoner fell an easy prey to the furious coiner at first.

He was half-dazed with being jerked down to the ground.

But he soon recovered himself.

Then he set to punching at Lenoir with all his strength.

Then they grappled fiercely with each other.

A desperate struggle for supremacy ensued.

At length Lenoir's superior strength and science prevailed, tough as the waggoner was.

The latter lay under the coiner, whose knee pressed cruelly upon his chest.

"Now ask my pardon," said Lenoir.

"Never!" roared the defeated waggoner, stoutly.

"I shall kill you if you don't," said Lenoir, threateningly.

"Mind you don't get finished off first," said the waggoner significantly.

As he spoke, he was looking up over his conqueror's shoulder.

Lenoir perceived this, but thought it only a _ruse_ to get him to shift his hold.

So, with a contemptuous smile, he raised his clenched fist to deal the luckless waggoner a blow that was to knock every scrap of sense out of his unfortunate cranium.

"Take that!"

But before the waggoner could get it, Lenoir received something himself that sent him to earth with a hollow groan--felled like a bullock beneath the butcher's pole-axe.

Somebody had after all been concealed in the waggon.

That somebody was Herbert Murray himself.

The English youth had heard the scuffle, and seeing his opportunity, he slid out of his place of concealment and joined in the fight at the very right moment.

* * * *

The waggoner shook himself together.

"That was neatly done, _camarade_," he said.

"I was just in time," said Murray; "look after him. He is wanted by the police; a desperate customer. They are after him now."

"He's very quiet," said the waggoner, with a curious glance.

"He's not dead," returned Murray; "he has his destiny to fulfil yet."

"What may that be?"

"The galleys," was the reply.

The waggoner stared hard at young Murray.

"I don't like the look of you much more than that of the beast lying there," he thought to himself; "mind you don't keep him company in the galleys."

An odd fancy to cross a stranger's mind.

Was it prophetic?