More, the incidents of the night showed how swiftly those enemies were working, how sharp and stiletto-like their weapons.
That Harry was innocent was certain,--to Robert Fairchild.

There was quite a difference between a joke which a whole town recognized as such and a deliberate robbery which threatened the life of at least one man.
Fairchild knew in his heart that Harry was not built along those lines.
Looking back over it now, Fairchild could see how easily Fate had played into the hands of the Rodaines, if the Rodaines had not possessed a deeper concern than merely to seize upon a happening and turn it to their own account.

The highwayman was big.

The highwayman talked with a "Cousin-Jack" accent,--for all Cornishmen are "Cousin Jacks" in the mining country.

Those two features in themselves, Fairchild thought, as he stumbled along in the darkness, were sufficient to start the scheming plot in the brain of Maurice Rodaine, already ugly and evil through the trick played by Harry on his father and the rebuke that had come from Anita Richmond.