The Legend of the Phantom Highwayman Read Online Free PDF Page B

Róisín.
    â€˜You don’t think he’s bringing the poteen down from the mountains, do you?’
    Cowlick laughed. ‘Tapser, would you give over. A minute ago you were saying Max was the smuggler. Now it’s poor oul’ Peppi.’
    â€˜Still,’ said Tapser, ‘he would be in an ideal position to smuggle it, wouldn’t he? I mean, he could collect it without raising any suspicion.’
    â€˜He does seem to know an awful lot about poteen,’ Róisín agreed.
    â€˜That’s right,’ said Rachel. ‘You heard him saying that whenever Hugh Rua is supposed to be seen, it means there’s a shipment on the way.’
    â€˜It’s a funny business that about Hugh Rua,’ said Tapser. ‘I wonder where we could find out more about him?’
    â€˜What for?’ asked Cowlick.
    â€˜Well, if Peppi was right about the poteen smugglers being on the move, maybe he was right about the phantom too.’
    â€˜Mr Stephenson could probably tell us more about him,’ Róisín suggested. ‘He owns The Highwayman Inn.’
    â€˜That’s right,’ said Rachel. ‘He has a coach he displays every year at the show. But we better go home for our dinner first.’
    * * *
    After dinner they made their way back into town and out to where the High Road sloped down to the sea. On the corner where the two roads met, stood The Highwayman public house.
    â€˜Talk of the devil,’ exclaimed Tapser. ‘There’s Peppi.’
    â€˜And there’s a police car parked outside,’ said Cowlick. ‘I wonder what’s going on?’
    Peppi had put a nosebag on his horse and was casually watching the comings and goings.
    â€˜What are you doing here?’ he asked them.
    â€˜We thought Mr Stephenson could tell us more about Hugh Rua,’ Tapser told him.
    â€˜You’re not the only ones,’ said Peppi.
    â€˜Why, what’s going on?’ asked Róisín.
    â€˜It’s a raid. The police seem to think Sam knows something about this phantom business. They’re in there now talking to him and Blind Jack.’
    â€˜Blind Jack?’ asked Tapser. ‘Who’s he?’
    â€˜Jack’s his handyman,’ Cowlick told him. ‘He minds the coach and that sort of thing.’
    Tapser was studying the sign above the door portraying Hugh Rua’s celebrated coach robbery, when the police suddenly emerged and drove off. Mr Stephenson, a big burly man with rolled-up shirt sleeves and a white apron, came to the door a moment later.
    â€˜What’s the matter, Sam?’ inquired Peppi. ‘Are you in trouble?’
    â€˜It would take more than a visit by the polis to get me into trouble,’ laughed Mr Stephenson. ‘I’ve nothing to hide.’
    â€˜Can I show them the coach?’
    â€˜Sure why not? There’s not a soul in the place now – not after that carry-on.’
    Out in the back yard, they found that Mr Stephenson was something of a collector. He had a pony-trap, a jaunting car and various other horse-drawn vehicles, but the pride of his collection was a coach that was being polished by a man in a leather apron.
    â€˜That,’ said Mr Stephenson with a wave of his hand, ‘is the Londonderry Mail . She went all the way from Belfast to Derry.’
    It was a really magnificent coach. Its wheels and central shaft were painted red, while the lower part of the body was yellow and the top part black. These, Mr Stephenson informed them, were the coaching colours of the day.
    â€˜You also had the Southern mail coach running between Dublin and Cork, and the Northern mail coach between Dublin and Belfast,’ he told them. ‘And a lot more.’
    â€˜Why did they call them mail coaches?’ Rachel asked him.
    â€˜Because they carried the mail as well as passengers – you know, letters and things. And believe it or not, that made a big difference in their