The highwayman reappeared in the light of the coach lamps. He was walking very slowly and carefully, his legs spread wide apart. And he was quietly whimpering.

“Ah, there you are,” said Maurice, cheerfully. “Went straight up your trouser legs, did they? Typical rat trick. Just nod, 'cos we don't want to set 'em off. No tellin' where it might end.”

The highwayman nodded very slowly. Then his eyes narrowed. “You're a cat?” he mumbled. Then his eyes crossed and he gasped.

“Did I say talk?” said Maurice. “I don't think I said talk, did I? Did the coachman run away or did you kill him?” The man's face went blank. “Ah, quick learner, I like that in a highwayman,” said Maurice. “You can answer that question.”

“Ran away,” said the highwayman hoarsely.

Maurice stuck his head back inside the coach. “Whadja think?” he said. “Coach, four horses, probably some valuables in the mail-bags… could be, oh, a thousand dollars or more. The kid could drive it. Worth a try?”

“That's stealing, Maurice,” said Peaches. She was sitting on the seat beside the kid. She was a rat.

“Not stealing as such,” said Maurice. “More… findin'. The driver's run away, so it's like… salvage. Hey, that's right, we could turn it in for the reward. That's much better. Legal, too. Shall we?”

“People would ask too many questions,” said Peaches.

“If we just leave it, someone yawlp will steal it,” wailed Maurice. “Some thief will take it away! Much better if we take it, eh? We're not thieves.”

“We will leave it, Maurice,” said Peaches.

“In that case, let's steal the highwayman's horse,” said Maurice, as if the night wouldn't be properly finished unless they stole something. “Stealing from a thief isn't stealing, 'cos it cancels out.”