Geoffrey Mordacks well knew this, and did not neglect his knowledge.

The brown walnut stock of a heavy pistol shone above either holster, and a cavalry sword in a leathern scabbard hung within easy reach of hand.

Altogether this gentleman seemed not one to be rashly attacked by daylight.
No man had ever dreamed as yet of coming to this outlandish place for pleasure of the prospect.

So that when this lonely rider was descried from the washing field over the low wall of the lane, the women made up their minds at once that it must be a justice of the peace, or some great rider of the Revenue, on his way to see Dr.Upandown, or at the least a high constable concerned with some great sheep-stealing.

Not that any such crime was known in the village itself of Flamborough, which confined its operations to the sea; but in the outer world of land that malady was rife just now, and a Flamborough man, too fond of mutton, had farmed some sheep on the downs, and lost them, which was considered a judgment on him for willfully quitting ancestral ways.
But instead of turning at the corner where the rector was trying to grow some trees, the stranger kept on along the rugged highway, and between the straggling cottages, so that the women rinsed their arms, and turned round to take a good look at him, over the brambles and furze, and the wall of chalky flint and rubble.
"This is just what I wanted," thought Geoffrey Mordacks: "skill makes luck, and I am always lucky.