Nye came back just then and announced with a reluctant smile that Sir Tristram had succeeded in boarding the coach, in spite of all the guard’s representations to him that such high-handed proceedings were quite out of order. When asked by Ludovic if he knew what Sir Tristram meant to do, he replied in his stolid way: ‘I do not sir, but you may depend upon it he’ll do what’s best. All he said to me was, I was to see you safe into your room. Myself, I’m having a truckle-bed set up here, and it’ll be a mighty queer thing if anyone gets into the house without I’ll hear them. Not but what it don’t seem to me likely that anyone will try that game to-night. They’ll be waiting up at the Dower House till to-morrow in the hopes that Sam Barker will have found that plaguey ring of yours, sir.’
Miss Thane sighed. ‘How abominably flat it will seem to have no one breaking in any more! Really, I do not know how I am to support life once all these exciting happenings are at an end.’
Nye favoured her with a grim little smile. ‘By what I can make out, they ain’t ended yet, ma’am. We’ll do well to keep an eye lifted for trouble as soon as that Beau learns Barker ain’t found his quizzing-glass. I’ll be glad when I see Sir Tristram back, and that’s a fact. Now, Mr Ludovic, if you’re ready, I’ll help you get to bed. You’ll have to go down to the cellar again to-morrow, and the orders are I’m to see you into it before I unbar the doors in the morning. And what’s more sir,’ he added, forestalling Ludovic’s imminent expostulation, ‘I’ve orders to knock you out if you don’t go willing.’
This ferocious threat was not, however, put into execution. Ludovic descended into the cellar at an early hour on the following morning, and the rest of the party, with the exception of Sir Hugh, who was only interested in his breakfast, prepared themselves to meet whatever peril should lie in store for them. Eustacie, who thought that she had taken far too small a part in the adventure, was feeling somewhat aggrieved, Ludovic having refused without the least hesitation to lend her one of his pistols. ‘I never lend my pistols,’ he said. ‘Besides, what do you want it for?’
‘But to fire, of course!’ replied Eustacie impatiently.
‘Good God! What at?’
‘Why, at anybody who tries to come into the house!’ she said, opening her eyes in surprise at his stupidity. ‘And if you would let Sarah have one too, she could help me. After all, we may find ourselves in great danger, you know.’
‘You won’t find yourselves in half such danger as you would if I let you have my pistols,’ said Ludovic, with brutal candour.
This unfeeling response sent Eustacie off in a dudgeon to Miss Thane. Here at least she was sure of finding a sympathetic listener. Nor did Miss Thane disappoint her. She professed herself to be quite at a loss to understand the selfishness of men, and when she learned that Eustacie had planned for her also to fire upon possible desperadoes, she said that she could almost wish that she had not been told of the scheme, since it made her feel quite disheartened to think of it falling to the ground.
‘Well, I do think we ought to be armed,’ said Eustacie wistfully. ‘It is true that I do not know much about guns but one has only to point them and pull the trigger, after all.’
‘Exactly,’ agreed Miss Thane. ‘I dare say we should have accounted for any number of desperate ruffians. It is wretched indeed! We shall be forced to rely upon our wits.’
But the morning passed quietly, the only excitement being provided by Gregg, who came to the inn with the ostensible object of inquiring whether Nye could let his master have a pipe of burgundy. He left his horse in the yard, and was thus able to exchange a word with Barker, who, with the fear of transportation before him, faithfully obeyed Sir Tristram’s instructions, and said that he had had no chance yet to search for the quizzing-glass.
In the afternoon Sir Hugh, following his usual custom, went upstairs to enjoy a peaceful sleep. Miss Thane and Eustacie watched the Brighton mail arrive, but since it did not set Sir Tristram down at the Red Lion, their interest in it swiftly waned. They had begun to question whether they were to experience any adventures whatsoever when, to their amazement, Beau Lavenham’s chaise passed the parlour window, drew up outside the coffee-room door, and set down the Beau himself.
He alighted unhurriedly, took care to remove a speck of dust from his sleeve, and in the calmest way imaginable walked into the inn.
‘Well,’ said Miss Thane, ‘I think this passes the bounds of reasonable effrontery! Do you suppose that he has come to pay us a ceremonious visit?’
Apparently this was his purpose, for in a few minutes Nye ushered him into the parlour. He came in with his usual smile, and bowed with all his usual flourish. ‘Such a happiness to find you still here!’ he said. ‘Your very obedient, ma’am!’
‘If you should be needing aught, ma’am, you have only to call,’ said Nye, with slow deliberation.
‘Oh yes, indeed! Pray do not wait!’ said Miss Thane, slipping into her rôle of empty-headed femininity. ‘I will certainly call you if I need anything. How delightful it is to see you, Mr Lavenham! Here you find us yawning over our stitchery, quite enchanted to be receiving company. You must know that we have made all our plans for departure, and mean to set forward for London almost immediately. I am so glad to have the opportunity of taking leave of you! So very obliging you were in permitting me to visit your beautiful house! I am for ever talking of it!’
‘My house was honoured, ma’am. Do I understand that your brother has at last recovered from his sad indisposition? It must have been an unconscionably bad cold to have kept him in this dull inn for many days.’
‘Yes, indeed, quite the worst he has ever had,’ agreed Miss Thane. ‘But he has not found it dull, I assure you.’
‘No?’ said the Beau gently.
‘Indeed, no! You must understand that he is a great judge of wine. A well-stocked cellar will reconcile him to the hardest lot. It is quite absurd!’
‘Ah, yes!’ said the Beau. ‘Nye has a great deal in his cellars, I apprehend – more perhaps than he will admit.’
‘That is true,’ remarked Eustacie, with considerable relish. ‘Grandpère was used to say that he would defy anyone to find what Nye preferred to keep hidden.’
‘I fear he must have been speaking with a little exaggeration,’ said the Beau. ‘I trust Nye will never find himself compelled to submit to a search being made for his secret cellar. Such things are very well while no one knows of their existence, but once the news of them gets about it becomes a simple matter to discover them.’
Miss Thane, listening to this speech with an air of the most guileless interest, exclaimed: ‘How odd that you should say that! I must tell you that my brother said at the very outset that he was convinced Nye must possess some hidden store!’
‘I felicitate you, ma’am, upon being blessed with a brother of such remarkable perspicacity,’ said the Beau in a mellifluous voice. He turned towards his cousin. ‘My dear Eustacie, I wonder if I may crave the indulgence of a few moments’ private speech with you? Miss Thane will readily understand that between cousins –’
Miss Thane interrupted him at this point, with an affected little cry. ‘Oh, Mr Lavenham, no, indeed! It is not to be thought of ! You must know that I am this dear child’s chaperon – is it not ridiculous? – and such a thing would not do at all!’
He looked at her with narrowed eyes, and after a moment, said: ‘I do not recollect, ma’am, that these scruples weighed with you so heavily when you visited my house not so long since.’
Miss Thane looked distressed, and replied: ‘It is very true. Your reproach is just, sir. I’m such a sad shatterbrain that I forgot my duties in admiration of your library.’
He raised his brows in polite scepticism. Eustacie said: ‘I do not have secrets from mademoiselle. Why do you wish to see me alone? Je n’en vois pas la nécessité!’
‘Well,’ said the Beau, ‘
if I may speak without reserve, my dear cousin, I desired to drop a word of warning in your ear.’
She looked him over dispassionately. ‘Yes? I do not know why I must be warned, but if you wish to warn me, I am perfectly agreeable.’
‘Let us say,’ amended the Beau, ‘that I desire you to convey a warning to the person most nearly concerned. You must know that I am aware – have been aware from the outset – that you are concealing – a certain person in this house. I do not need to mention names, I am sure. Now, I wish this person no harm; in the past I think I may say that I have been very much his friend, but it will not be in my power to assist him if once his presence in this inn becomes known. And I fear – I very much fear – that it is known. You have already been a trifle discommoded, I collect, by two Runners from Bow Street. They seem, by all accounts, to have been a singularly stupid couple. But you must remember that all the Runners are not so easily – shall we say, duped?’ He paused, but Eustacie, contenting herself with gazing at him blankly, said nothing. He smiled slightly, and continued: ‘You should consider, dear cousin, what would happen if someone who knows this person well were to go to Bow Street and say: “I have proof that this man is even now lying in a hidden cellar at the Red Lion at Hand Cross.”’
‘You recount to me a history of the most entertaining,’ said Eustacie, with painstakingly civility. ‘I expect you would be very glad to know that Ludovic – I name names, me – had gone abroad.’
‘Very glad,’ replied the Beau sweetly. ‘I should be much distressed if he brought any more disgrace on the family by ending his career on the scaffold. And that, my dear Eustacie, is what he will do if ever he falls into the hands of the Law.’
‘But I find you inexplicable!’ said Eustacie. ‘I thought you at least believed him to be innocent.’
He shrugged. ‘Certainly, but his unfortunate flight, coupled with the disappearance of the talisman ring which was at the root of all the trouble, will always make it impossible for him to prove his innocence.’ He put the tips of his fingers together, and over them surveyed Eustacie. ‘It is very disagreeable to be a hunted man, you know. It would be much better to have it given out that one had died – abroad. I am anxious to be of what assistance I can. If I had proof that my cousin Ludovic was no more, I would gladly engage to provide – well, let us say a man who looked like my cousin Ludovic but bore another name – to provide this man, then, with an allowance I believe he would not consider ungenerous.’ He stopped and took a pinch of snuff.
‘I ask myself,’ said Eustacie meditatively, ‘why you should wish to overwhelm Ludovic with your generosity. It is to me not at all easy to understand.’
‘Ah, that is not clever of you, dear cousin,’ he replied. ‘Surely you must perceive the disadvantages of my situation?’
‘But yes, very clearly,’ said Eustacie, with disconcerting alacrity.
‘Precisely,’ smiled the Beau. ‘Of course, were there but the slimmest chance of Ludovic’s being able to prove his innocence, it would be another matter. But there is no such chance, Eustacie, and I should be a very odd sort of a creature if I did not look forward with misgiving to an indefinite number of years spent in waiting beside a vacant throne.’
‘A vacant throne?’ suddenly said Miss Thane, raising her head from the book she had taken up. ‘Oh, are you speaking of the murder of the French King? I was never more shocked in my life than when I heard the news of it!’
The Beau paid no heed to her. His eyes still rested on Eustacie; he said pensively: ‘One may live very comfortably on the Continent, I believe. You, for instance, would like it excessively, I dare say.’
‘I? But we do not speak of me!’
‘Do we not? Well, I shall not pretend that I am not glad to hear you say so,’ he answered. He got up from his chair. ‘You will think over what I have said, will you not? You might even tell Ludovic.’
Eustacie assumed an expression of doubt. ‘Yes, but perhaps if he did what you suggest you would not give him any money after all,’ she said.
‘In that case,’ replied the Beau calmly, ‘he would only have to come to life again to deprive me of title, land, and wealth. One might almost say that he would hold me quite in his power.’
‘True, yes, that is very true,’ nodded Eustacie. ‘But I do not know – it is not possible for me to say –’
‘My dear cousin, I do not wish you to say anything. No doubt you will discuss the matter with Ludovic and inform me later of your decision. I will take my leave of you now.’ He turned and bowed to Miss Thane. ‘Your servant, ma’am. Do not trouble to accompany me to the door, my dear cousin; I know my way. I have been here before, you know.’ He broke off and said: ‘Ah, that reminds me! I believe that upon the occasion of my last visit I lost my quizzing-glass here. I wonder if it has been found?’
‘Your quizzing-glass?’ repeated Eustacie. ‘How came you to lose that, pray?’
‘The ribbon was a trifle worn,’ he explained. ‘The glass is of sentimental value to me. May I have it, if you please?’
She shook her head. ‘You are mistaken. It is certainly not here.’
He sighed. ‘No? Tax your memory again, cousin. It would be wiser to remember, I think.’
‘It is impossible. I do not know where your glass may be,’ said Eustacie, with perfect truth.
Miss Thane, quite unable to resist the temptation of taking part in this scene, said: ‘A quizzing-glass? Oh yes, I know!’
‘Indeed, ma’am?’ The Beau turned rather quickly. ‘Enlighten me, I beg of you!’
Miss Thane nodded at Eustacie. ‘Do you not remember, my love, how Nye found one half hidden beneath a chair only yesterday? Oh no, I believe you were not by at the time! He laid it on the mantelshelf in the coffee-room. I will fetch it for you directly.’
‘Do not put yourself to the trouble, ma’am,’ said the Beau, breathing a little faster. ‘I am quite in your debt, and will recover the glass upon my way out.’
‘Oh, but it is not the least trouble in the world!’ declared Miss Thane, rising, and going to the door. ‘I can place my hand upon it in a trice!’
‘You are too good.’ He bowed, and followed her to the coffee-room.
She checked for an instant on the threshold, for the room was not, as she had expected to find it, empty. A powerful-looking man in a blue coat and buckskins was seated on the settle beside the fire, warming his feet and refreshing himself from a mug of ale. He turned his head as Miss Thane came in, and although he did not look at her for more than a couple of seconds, she had an uncomfortable feeling that the look was not quite as casual as it seemed to be. She caught Eustacie’s eye, and found it brimful of warning. Comforting herself with the reflection that even if the stranger were in Beau Lavenham’s pay, there was no fear of either of them finding the quizzing-glass, she tripped forward to the fireplace. ‘I know just where he put it,’ she informed the Beau over her shoulder. ‘This end it was – no! Well, that is the oddest thing! I could have sworn – Do you reach up your arm, Mr Lavenham: you are taller than I am.’
The Beau, who did not need this encouragement, ran his hand the length of the mantelpiece. ‘You are mistaken, ma’am,’ he said, his voice suddenly harsh. ‘It is not here!’
‘But it must be!’ she said. ‘I am positive it was put there. Someone must have moved it!’ An idea seemed to strike her. She said: ‘I wonder, did your valet take it? He was here this morning, you know, and stayed for quite some time. I could not imagine what he was about! Depend upon it, he must have discovered it, and you will find it awaiting you at the Dower House.’
He turned pale, and said with his eyes fixed on her face: ‘My valet? You say my valet was in this room to-day?’
‘Yes, indeed he was,’ averred Miss Thane unblushingly. ‘Of course, I never dreamed the glass was what he was looking for, or I would have shown him at once where
it was. All’s well that ends well, however. You may be sure he has it safe.’
Eustacie, lost in admiration of Miss Thane’s tactics, watched the smile vanish completely from the Beau’s face. An expression half of doubt, half of dismay took its place; it was plain that while he suspected Miss Thane of prevaricating, he was unable to banish from his mind as impossible the thought that his valet, guessing that the quizzing-glass held a vital secret, might have come to search for it on his own account. She saw his hand open and close, and his lips straighten to a thin, ugly line, and was observing these signs of mental perturbation with critical interest when she became aware of being addressed by the stranger on the settle.
‘Very cold day, ma’am,’ he remarked, with the unmistakable air of one whose habit it was to enter into chat with anybody who crossed his path.
Eustacie glanced at him with a certain amount of misgiving. She supposed that the landlord of an inn could hardly refuse to allow a customer to drink his ale in the coffee-room if he wished to, but she could not help feeling that Nye might have contrived on this occasion at least to have lured him into the tap-room and to have kept him there under his own eye. On the other hand, it was, of course, possible that the man was known to Nye. She replied civilly: ‘Yes, very cold.’
‘Bitter wind blowing outside,’ pursued the stranger. ‘Ah well, it’s seasonable, ain’t it, ma’am? We hadn’t ought to complain. Begging your pardon, sir, if I might put another log of wood on the fire – Thank you, sir!’
The Beau, who was standing by the basket containing wood, moved to allow the stranger to approach it.
‘That’s the worst of a wood fire,’ said the stranger, selecting a suitable log. ‘They fall away to nothing in less than no time, don’t they, sir? But we’ll have a nice blaze in a minute you’ll see.’ He bent to pick up another log, and said in a surprised tone: ‘Well! And what might this be, all amongst the wood?’ He straightened himself as he spoke, and Miss Thane saw that he was holding the Beau’s quizzing-glass in his hand.