That's a boat-cloak, and the brute's sitting on me, said Hilary Leigh to himself as he vainly struggled to get free and shout for help. He did utter a few inarticulate noises, but they were smothered in the folds of the thick cloak, and he felt as if he were about to be smothered himself. Getting free he soon found was out of the question, so was making use of the weapons with which he was armed, for his wrists were wrenched round behind his back and his elbows firmly lashed. So were his ankles, and at the same time he felt the pistols dragged out of his belt and his sword unhooked and taken away.