The Talisman Ring

Chapter Eight

It was agreed finally that Ludovic should attempt nothing in the way of housebreaking until his cousin had discovered which day the Beau proposed to go to London. Ludovic, incurably optimistic, considered his ring as good as found already, but Shield, taking a more sober view of the situation, saw pitfalls ahead. If the Beau, like his father before him, were indeed in the habit of using the priest’s hole as a hiding-place for his strong-box, nothing was more likely than his keeping the ring there as well. Almost the only point on which Shield found himself at one with his volatile young cousin was the belief, firmly held by Ludovic, that the Beau, if he ever had the ring, would neither have sold it nor have thrown it away. To sell it would be too dangerous a procedure; to throw away an antique of great value would require more resolution than Sir Tristram believed the Beau possessed. But Sir Tristram could not share Ludovic’s easy-going contempt of the Beau. Ludovic persisted in laughing at his affectations, and thinking him a mere fop of no particular courage or enterprise. Sir Tristram, though he had no opinion of the Beau’s courage, profoundly mistrusted his suavity, and considered him to be a great deal more astute than he seemed.

The circumstance of the Beau’s butler and valet having seen part at least of the search for the secret panel Sir Tristram found disturbing. That the Beau was already suspicious of Eustacie’s supposed groom was apparent; Sir Tristram believed that if he got wind of his cousin’s odd behaviour in his library he would be quite capable of putting two and two together and not only connecting Ludovic with the episode but realizing that he himself had at last fallen under suspicion. And if the Beau suspected that Ludovic, who knew the position of the priest’s hole, had come into Sussex to find his ring he would surely be very unlikely to leave it where it would certainly be looked for.

Some part of these forebodings Shield confided to Miss Thane, enjoining her to do all that lay in her power to keep Ludovic hidden from all eyes but their own.

“Well, I will do my best,” replied Sarah, “but it is not an easy task, Sir Tristram.”

“I know it is not an easy task,” he said impatiently, “but it is the only way in which you can assist us—which I understand you to be desirous of doing.”

She could not forbear giving him a look of reproach. “You must be forgetting what assistance I rendered you at the Dower House,” she said.

“No,” replied Sir Tristram, at his dryest. “I was not forgetting that.”

Miss Thane rested her chin in her hand, pensively surveying him. “Will you tell me something, Sir Tristram?”

“Perhaps. What is it?”

“What induced you ever to contemplate marriage with your cousin?”

He looked startled, and not too well pleased. “I can hardly suppose, ma’am, that my private affairs can be of interest to you,” he said.

“Some people,” remarked Miss Thane wisely, “would take that for a set-down.”

Their eyes met; Sir Tristram smiled reluctantly. “You do not seem to be of their number, ma’am.”

“I am very thick-skinned,” explained Sarah. “You see, I have not had the benefit of a correct upbringing.”

“Have you always lived with your brother?” he inquired.

“Since I left school, sir.”

“I suppose that accounts for it,” he said, half to himself.

“Accounts for what?” asked Miss Thane suspiciously.

“Your—unusual quality, ma’am.”

“I hope that is a compliment,” said Miss Thane, not without misgiving.

“I am not very apt at compliments!” he retorted.

Her eyes twinkled appreciatively. “Yes, I deserved that. Very well, Sir Tristram, but you have not answered my question. Why did you take it into your head to marry your cousin?”

“You have been misinformed, ma’am. The idea was taken into my great-uncle’s head, not mine.”

She raised her brows. “Had you no voice in the matter then? Now, from what I have seen of you, I find that very hard to believe.”

“Do you imagine that I wanted to marry Eustacie for the sake of her money?” he demanded.

“No,” replied Miss Thane calmly. “I do not imagine anything of the kind.”

His momentary flash of anger died down; he said, less harshly: “Being the last of my name, ma’am, I conceive it to be my duty to marry. The alliance proposed to me by my great-uncle was one of convenience, and as such agreeable to me. Owing to the precarious circumstances to which the upheaval in France has reduced her paternal relatives, her grandfather’s death leaves Eustacie alone in the world, a contingency he sought to provide against by this match. I promised Sylvester upon his deathbed that I would marry Eustacie. That is all the story.”

“How do you propose to salve your conscience?” asked Miss Thane.

“My conscience is not likely to trouble me in this instance,” he answered. “Eustacie does not wish to marry me, and it would take more than a promise made to Sylvester to make me pursue a suit which she has declared to be distasteful to her. Moreover, had events turned out otherwise, Sylvester would have given her to Ludovic, not to me.”

“Oh, that is famous!” said Miss Thane. “We can now promote her betrothal to him with clear consciences. But it is vexing for you to be obliged to look about you for another lady eligible for the post you require her to fill. Are you set on marrying a young female?”

“I am not set on marrying anyone, and I beg that you—”

“Well, that should make it easier,” said Miss Thane. “Very young ladies are apt to be romantic, and that would never do.”

“I certainly do not look for romance in marriage, but pray do not let my affairs—”

“It must be someone past the age of being hopeful of getting a husband,” pursued Miss Thane, sinking her chin in her hand again.

“Thank you!” said Sir Tristram.

“Not handsome—I do not think we can expect her to be more than passable,” decided Miss Thane. “Good birth would of course be an essential?”

“Really, Miss Thane, this conversation—”

“Luckily,” she said, “there are any number of plain females of good birth but small fortune to be found in town. You may meet a few at the subscription balls at Almack’s, but I dare say I could find you a dozen to choose from whose Mamas have long since ceased to take them to the ‘Marriage Market’. After a certain number of seasons they have to yield place to younger sisters, you know.”

“You are too kind, ma’am!”

“Not at all; I shall be delighted to help you,” Miss Thane assured him. “I have just the sort of female that would suit you in my mind’s eye. A good, affectionate girl, with no pretensions to beauty, and a grateful disposition. She must be past the age of wanting to go to parties, and she must not expect you to make pretty speeches to her. I wonder—Would you object to her having a slight—a very slight squint in one eye?”

“Yes, I should,” said Sir Tristram. “Nor have I the smallest desire to—”

Miss Thane sighed. “Well, that is a pity. I had thought of the very person for you.”

“Let me beg you not to waste your time thinking of another! The matter is not urgent.”

She shook her head. “I cannot agree with you. After all, when one approaches middle age—”

“Middle—Has anyone ever boxed your ears, Miss Thane?”

“No, never,” said Miss Thane, looking blandly up at him.

“You have been undeservedly fortunate,” said Sir Tristram grimly. “We will, if you please, leave the subject of my marriage. I do not anticipate an immediate entry into wedlock.”

“Do you know,” said Miss Thane, with an air of candour, “I believe you are wise. You are not cut out for matrimony. Your faith in females was shattered by an unfortunate affair in your youth; your eyes were opened to the defects of the female character; you are—”

Sir Tristram looked thunderous. “Who told you this?” he snapped.

“Why, you did!”

“7?” he repeated.

“Most certainly.”

“You are mistaken. I am ready to allow that there may be many excellent women in the world. I do not know by what sign you knew that there had been an affair in my past about which I do not care to think. I can assure you that it has not prejudiced me against your sex.”

Miss Thane listened to this with her usual placidity, and, far from showing discomfiture, merely said: “It seems to me very inexplicable that you can have met your cousin with so open a mind and yet failed to fall instantly in love with her.”

He gave a short laugh. “There is no fear of my falling in love, ma’am. I learned my lesson early in life, but believe me, I have not forgotten it!”

“How melancholy it is to reflect that so few people have the good sense to profit by their experience as you have done!” said Miss Thane soulfully. “I wonder if we should warn your cousins of the disillusionment in store for them?”

“I do not think it will be necessary, Miss Thane. Moreover, there is no immediate likelihood of their being married. Ludovic’s affairs seem to me to be in as bad a way as they well might be.”

She became serious at once. “Do you think them hopeless?”

“No, not hopeless,” he replied. “But we have no certainty of the talisman ring being in Basil Lavenham’s possession, and to be frank with you, I don’t place much dependence upon its being in the priest’s hole, even if he has got it. Assuming that he has, I think he would remove it from a hiding-place known to Ludovic the instant he suspected his presence in the neighbourhood.”

“But does he suspect his presence?”

“There is no saying what the Beau suspects, Miss Thane. Don’t allow Ludovic to convince you that we have to deal with a fool! He is no such thing, I assure you.”

“You need not tell me that: I have met him. Will you think me fanciful if I say that I have a strong feeling that he is truly at the bottom of all Ludovic’s troubles?”

“No, I think it myself. The difficulty will be to prove it.”

“If you cannot find the ring what is to be done?”

She saw his mouth harden. He had evidently considered this question, for he replied at once: “If the worst come to the worst, the truth will have to be got out of him by other methods.”

Miss Thane, looking at Sir Tristram’s powerful frame, and observing the grimness in his face, could not help feeling sorry for the Beau if the worst should come to the worst. She replied lightly: “Would—er—other methods answer, do you suppose?”

“Probably,” said Sir Tristram. “He has very little physical courage. But until we have more to go upon than conjecture, we need not consider that.”

She sat thinking for a few moments, and presently said: “In one way it might not be so bad a thing if he did suspect Ludovic’s presence here. If he suspected it he must, I imagine, realize that you have been convinced of Ludovic’s innocence. I have frequently observed that when people are a little alarmed they are apt to behave with less than common sense. Your cousin has been so secure until now that it has been easy to act with coolness and presence of mind.”

“Very true,” he conceded. “I have thought of that, but the risks outweigh the advantages. If it were not for one circumstance I should seriously consider removing Ludovic from this country.”

“He seems very determined. I don’t think that he would consent to go,” said Miss Thane.

“I shouldn’t ask his consent,” replied Shield.

“Dear me, you seem to be in a very ruthless mood!” she remarked. “What makes you hesitate to kidnap poor Ludovic?”

“His marksmanship,” he answered. “A man would have to be in desperate straits before he engaged in a shooting-match with Ludovic. The Beau won’t risk it.”

“Well,” said Miss Thane, getting up from her chair, “I am far from wishing you to ship Ludovic out of the country (besides, it’s my belief he would come back), but I’ve a notion we are going to see some stirring adventures before we leave this place.”

“It’s very possible,” he agreed. “Are you afraid?”

She raised her eyes to his face. There was a hint of amusement in them. “My dear sir, can you not see that I am positively trembling with fright?” she said.

He smiled. “I beg your pardon. But to have a finger in a pie of Ludovic’s making is enough to cause the bravest to quail! What I chiefly dread is his taking it into his head to break into the Dower House without waiting for word from me. Do you think you can prevent him?”

“I don’t know,” said Sarah candidly. “But I can at least get word to you if he becomes unmanageable.”

For the time being, however, even Ludovic himself was forced to admit that his strength was not sufficiently recovered to permit of his riding five miles to the Dower House. He had lost a good deal of blood, and had been feverish for long enough to make him tiresomely weak upon first getting up out of his sickbed. He was not one to submit patiently to being an invalid, nor did it seem to be possible to impress him with a sense of the dangerous nature of his situation. Once he was possessed of his clothes, nothing short of turning the key on him could keep him in his room. He strolled about the inn in the most careless way imaginable, his left arm disposed in a sling and Sylvester’s great ruby on his finger. When begged to conceal this too well-known ring somewhere about his person, or to give it back to Tristram for safe keeping, he said No, he had a fancy to wear Sylvester’s ruby. Twice he nearly walked into the arms of local visitors to the Red Lion, who had come in for a tankard of ale and a chat over the coffee-room fire, and only Miss Thane’s timely intervention prevented him sallying forth into the yard with Sir Hugh to win his bet with a little marksmanship. Miss Thane, accustomed to handling the male, did not attempt to dissuade him from shooting. She merely suggested that if he wished to fire a noisy pistol the cellar would be the best place for such a pastime. Ludovic was just about to argue the point when Sir Hugh providentially pooh-poohed his sister’s suggestion, on the score that no one could be expected to culp a wafer in the wretched light afforded by a branch of candles. This was quite enough to make Ludovic instantly engage to win his wager under these or any other conditions, and down they both went, with Clem in attendance. There being no wafers available a playing-card had to suffice. When Ludovic tossed the ace of hearts to Clem, and said carelessly: “.Hold it for me, Clem!” Sir Hugh was shocked almost out of his sleepy placidity, and indeed went so far as to adjure the tapster not to be fool enough to obey. Clem, who, besides possessing boundless faith in Ludovic, would never have dreamed of disobeying his orders, merely grinned at this piece of advice, and held up the card by one corner. Ludovic, lounging on a barrel, inspected the priming of his pistol, requested Thane to move the candles a little to one side, levelled the pistol, and fired. The card fluttered to the ground. Clem, grinning more than ever, picked it up and showed it to Sir Hugh with the pip blown clean out of it.

This feat seemed to call for celebration, and Miss Thane, descending into the cellar in search of them some time later, found that they had broached a keg of Nantes brandy, and had no immediate intention of returning to upper ground. Invigorated by the brandy, Sir Hugh was seized by a desire to emulate Ludovic’s skill—but without Clem’s assistance. His efforts, unattended by success, brought Nye down to put a stop to a sport which was not only riddling the walls of the cellar, but creating enough noise to lead anyone above-stairs to suppose that the inn was being besieged.

Since he was not allowed to step outside the Red Lion, and dissuaded from wandering about at large in it, it was a fortunate circumstance that Eustacie was staying under the same roof with Ludovic. Her presence beguiled the most tedious hour, and her vehement way of saying: “But no, Ludovic, you shall not!” had the power of restraining him where Miss Thane’s reasoned arguments might have failed. He taught Eustacie how to throw dice and how to play piquet; he told her hair-raising and entirely apocryphal tales of adventure to be met with at sea; he teased her, and laughed at her, and ended inevitably by catching her in his sound arm and kissing her.

No sooner had he done it than he recollected the impropriety of such conduct. He released her at once, and said, rather pale, and with the laugh quite vanished from his eyes: “I’m sorry! Forgive me!”

Eustacie said earnestly: “Oh, I did not mind at all! Besides, you kissed me before, do you not remember?”

“Oh, that!” he said. “That was a mere cousinly kiss!”

“And this one, not?” she said simply. “I am glad.”

He ran his hand through his fair locks. “I’m a villain to have kissed you at all! Forget that I did! I had no right—I ought to be shot for doing such a thing!”

Eustacie stared at him in the blankest surprise. “Voyons, I find that you are excessively rude! I thought you wanted to kiss me!”

“Of course I wanted to! Oh, devil take it, this won’t do! Eustacie, if everything were different: if I were not a smuggler and an exile I should beg you to marry me. But I am these things, and—”

“I do not mind about that,” she interrupted. “It is not at all convenable that you should kiss me and then refuse to marry me. I am quite mortified.”

“I wish to God I could ask you to marry me!”

“It doesn’t signify,” said Eustacie, handsomely waiving this formality. “If it is against your honour you need not make me an offer. We will just be betrothed without it.”

“No, we won’t. Not until I have cleared my name.”

“Yes, but if you cannot clear your name, what then are we to do?” she demanded.

“Forget we ever met!” said Ludovic with a groan.

This Spartan resolve did not commend itself to Eustacie at all. Two large tears sparkled on the ends of her eyelashes, and she said in a forlorn voice: “But me, I have a memory of the very longest!”

Ludovic, seeing the tears, could not help putting his arm round her again. “Sweetheart, don’t cry! I can’t possibly let you marry me if I’m to remain an exile all my life.”

Eustacie stood on tiptoe, and kissed his chin. “Yes, you can. It is quite my own affair. If I want to marry an exile I shall.”

“You won’t.”

“But yes, I have thought of a very good plan. We will go and live in Austria, where my uncle the Vicomte is.”

“Nothing would induce me to live in Austria!”

“Bien, then we will live in Italy, at Rome.”

“Not Rome,” objected Ludovic. “Too many English there.”

“Oh! Then you will choose for us some place where there are not any English people, and Tristram who is a—is a trustee will arrange that you can have some money there.”

“Tristram is more likely to send you to Bath and kick me out of the country,” said Ludovic. “What’s more, I don’t blame him.”

But Sir Tristram, when the news of the betrothal was broken to him, did not evince any desire to resort to such violent methods. He did not even show much surprise, and when Ludovic, half defiant, half contrite, said: “I ought never to have done it, I know,” he merely replied: “I don’t suppose you did do it.”

Eustacie, taking this as a compliment, said cordially: “You are quite right, mon cousin; it was I who did it, which was not perhaps comme il faut, but entirely necessary, on account of Ludovic’s honour. And if we do not find that ring we shall go away to Italy, and you will arrange for Ludovic to have his money there, will you not?”

“I expect so,” said Shield. “But if you are determined to marry Ludovic I think we had better find the ring.”

Miss Thane, who had come into the parlour in the middle of this speech, thought it proper to assume an expression of astonishment and to say incredulously: “Do I understand, Sir Tristram, that this betrothal has your blessing?”

He turned. “Oh, you are there, are you? No, it has not my blessing, though I have no doubt it has yours?”

“Of course it has,” said Miss Thane. “I think it is delightful. Have you discovered when the Beau means to go to London?”

But this he had been unable to do, the Beau having apparently decided to postpone the date. Shield had come to inform Ludovic of it, and to warn him that this change of plan might well mean the Beau’s suspicions had been aroused. When he heard from Nye that Gregg had visited the inn on the previous day for the ostensible purpose of purchasing a keg of brandy for his master, he felt more uneasy than ever, and said that if only Ludovic had not entered upon an ill-timed engagement he would have had no hesitation in forcibly removing him to Holland.

Miss Thane, to whom, in the coffee-room, this remark was addressed, said that the betrothal, though perhaps a complication, had been inevitable from the start.

“Quite so, ma’am. But if you had not encouraged Eustacie to remain here it need not have been inevitable.”

“I might have known you would lay it at my door!” said Miss Thane in a voice of pious resignation.

“I imagine you might, since you are very well aware of having fostered the engagement!” retorted Shield. “I had thought you a woman of too much sense to encourage such an insane affair.”

“Oh!” said Miss Thane idiotically, “but I think it is so romantic!”

“Don’t be so foolish!” said Sir Tristram, refusing to smile at this sally.

“How cross you are!” marvelled Miss Thane. “I suppose when one reaches middle age it is difficult to sympathize with the follies of youth.”

Sir Tristram had walked over to the other side of the room to pick up his coat and hat, but this was too much for him, and he turned and said with undue emphasis: “It may interest you to know, ma’am, that I am one-and-thirty years old, and not yet in my dotage!”

“Why, of course not!” said Miss Thane soothingly. “You have only entered upon what one may call the sober time of life. Let me help you to put on your coat!”

“Thank you,” said Sir Tristram. “Perhaps you would also like to give me the support of your arm as far as the door?”

She laughed. “Can I not persuade you to remain a little while? This has been a very fleeting visit. Do you not find it dull alone at the Court?”

“Very, but I am not going to the Court. I am on my way to Brighton, to talk to the Beau’s late butler.”

She said approvingly: “You may be shockingly cross, but you are certainly not idle. Tell me about this butler!”

“There is nothing to tell as yet. He was in the Beau’s employment at the time of Plunkett’s murder, and it occurred to me some days ago that it might be interesting to trace him, and discover what he can remember of the Beau’s movements upon that night.”

This scheme, though it would not have appealed to Eustacie, who preferred her plans to be attended by excitement, seemed eminently practical to Miss Thane. She parted from Sir Tristram very cordially, and went back into the parlour to tell Ludovic that although he might still be unable to do anything towards his reinstatement, his cousin had the matter well in hand.

As she had expected, Eustacie did not regard Sir Tristram’s errand with much favour. She said that it was very well for Tristram, but for herself she preferred that there should be adventure.

But upon the following morning, when Miss Thane had gone out with her brother for a sedate walk, adventure took Eustacie unawares and in a guise that frightened her a good deal more than she liked.

She was seated in the parlour, waiting for Ludovic, who was dressing, to come downstairs, when the mail coach from London arrived. She heard it draw up outside the inn, but paid no attention to it, for it was a daily occurrence, and the coach only stopped at the Red Lion to change horses. But a minute or two later Clem put his head into the room, and said, his face as white as his shirt: “It’s the Runners, miss!”

Eustacie’s embroidery-frame slipped out of her hands. She gazed at Clem in horror, and stammered: “The B-Bow Street Runners?”

“Yes, miss, I’m telling you! And there’s Mr Ludovic trapped upstairs, and Mr Nye not in!” said Clem, wringing his hands.

Eustacie pulled herself together. “He must instantly go into the cellar. I will talk to the Runners while you take him there.”

“It’s too late, miss! Whoever it was sent them knew about the cellars, for there’s one of them standing over the backstairs at this very moment! I never knew they was even on the coach till they come walking into the place, as bold as brass!”

“They may be searching the house now!” exclaimed Eustacie in sudden alarm. “You should not have left them! Oh dear, do you think my cousin will shoot them? If he does we must bury them quickly, before anyone knows!”

“No, no, miss, it ain’t as bad as that yet! What they wants is to see Mr Nye. They daresn’t go searching the place afore ever they tell him what they’re here for. They think I’ve gone to look for him, but what I’ve got to do is to hide the young master, and lordy, lordy, how can I get upstairs without them knowing when one of ’em’s lounging round the backstairs, and’t’other sitting in the coffee-room?”

“Go immediately, and find Nye!” ordered Eustacie. “He must think of a way. I will talk to these Runners, and if I can I will coax the one in the coffee-room to come into the parlour.”

With this praiseworthy resolve in mind, and an uncomfortable feeling of panic in her breast, she sallied forth from the parlour and made her way to the coffee-room. Here, at a table in the middle of the room which commanded a view of the staircase and the front door, was seated a stockily-built individual in a blue coat and a wide-brimmed hat, casually glancing over the contents of a folded journal, which he had extricated from one capacious pocket. Eustacie, surveying him from the open doorway, noticed that his figure was on the portly side, a circumstance which afforded her a certain amount of satisfaction, since it seemed improbable that a stout, middle-aged man would have much hope of catching Ludovic if that young gentleman were forced to take to his heels.

Summoning up a smile, and a look of inquiry, Eustacie said, as though startled: “Oh! Why, who are you?”

The Bow Street officer looked up, and finding that he was being addressed by a young and enchantingly pretty female, laid the journal down upon the table and rose to his feet. He touched his hat, and said that he was wishful to see the landlord.

“But yes, of course!” said Eustacie. “You have come on the mail coach, sans doute, and you want a drink! I understand!”

By this time the Runner had assimilated the fact that she was not English. He did not care for foreigners, but her instant grasp of his most pressing need inclined him to regard her with less disapproval than he might otherwise have done. He did not precisely admit that he wanted a drink, but he said that it was a very cold, raw day to be sure, and waited hopefully to see what she would do about it.

“Yes,” she said, “and it is, moreover, very draughty in a coach. I think you ought to have some cognac.”

The Runner thought so too. He had not wanted to come down to Sussex on what would probably turn out to be a wild-goose chase. He felt gloomily that he would not have been chosen for the task if the authorities over him had set much store by the information lodged with them, for he was not at the moment in very good odour at Bow Street. Such epithets as Blockhead and Blunderer had been used in connection with his last case, since when he had not been employed upon any very important business. In his more optimistic moments he dreamed rosily of the glory attaching to the capture of so desperate a character as Ludovic Lavenham, but when his throat was dry and his fingers chilled he did not feel optimistic.

“When Nye comes he must at once give you some cognac,” announced Eustacie. “But I do not understand what you are doing here and you have not told me who you are.”

The Runner was not much acquainted with the Quality, but it did occur to him that it was a little unusual for young ladies to address strange men in public coffee-rooms. He bent a penetrating and severe eye upon her, and replied, awe-inspiringly, that he was an Officer of the Law.

Eustacie at once clasped her hands together, and cried: “I thought you were! Are you perhaps a Bow Street Runner?”

The Runner was accustomed to having his identity discovered with fear, or even loathing, but he had not till now encountered anyone who became ecstatic upon learning his dread profession. He admitted that he was a Runner, but looked so suspiciously at Eustacie that she made haste to explain that in France they had no such people, which was the reason why she was so particularly anxious to meet one.

When she mentioned France the Runner’s brow cleared. The French, what with their guillotines and one thing and another, were the worst kinds of foreigners, and it was no use being surprised at them behaving queerly. They were born that way; there wasn’t any sense in them; and the silly habit they had of holding that everyone was equal accounted for this young lady speaking so friendly to a mere Bow Street Runner.

“You are one of the so famous Runners!” said Eustacie, regarding him with rapt admiration. “You must be very brave and clever!”

The Runner coughed rather self-consciously, and murmured something inarticulate. He had not previously given the matter much thought, but now the lady came to mention it he realized that he was rather a brave man.

“What is your name?” inquired Eustacie. “And why have you come here?”

“Jeremiah Stubbs, miss,” said the Runner. “I am here in the execution of my dooty.”

Eustacie opened her eyes to their widest extent, and asked breathlessly whether he had come to make an arrest. “How I should like to see you make an arrest!” she said.

Mr Stubbs was not impervious to flattery. He threw out his chest a little, and replied with an indulgent smile that he couldn’t say for certain whether he was going to make an arrest or not.

“But who?” demanded Eustacie. “Not someone in this inn?”

“A desprit criminal, missy, that’s the cove I’m after,” said Mr Stubbs.

Eustacie’s straining ears caught the sound of an opening door upstairs and a light footfall. She said as loudly as she dared: “I suppose you, who are a Bow Street Runner, have to capture a great many desperate criminals?” As she spoke she moved towards the fire, so that to address her Mr Stubbs had to turn slightly, presenting his profile, and no longer his full face to the staircase.

“Oh well, miss,” he said carelessly, “we don’t take much account of that!”

Eustacie caught a glimpse of Ludovic at the top of the stairs, and said quickly: “Bow Street Runners! It must be very exciting to be a Bow Street Runner, I think!” She glanced up as she spoke, and saw that Ludovic had vanished. Feeling almost sick with relief, she pressed her handkerchief to her lips, and said mechanically: “Who is this criminal, I wonder? A thief, perhaps?”

“Not a thief, miss,” said Mr Stubbs. “A murderer!”

The effect of this announcement was all he had hoped for. Eustacie gave a shriek and faltered: “Here? A m-murderer? Arrest him at once, if you please! But at once!”

“Ah!” said Mr Stubbs, “if I could do that everything would be easy, wouldn’t it? But this here murdering cove has been evading of the law for two years and more.”

“But how could he evade you, who must, I know, be a clever man, for two years?”

Mr Stubbs began to think rather well of Eustacie, French though she might be. “That’s it,” he said. “You’ve put your finger on it, missy, as the saying is. If they’d had me on to him at the start p’raps he wouldn’t have done no evading.”

“No, I think not, indeed. You look very cold, which is not at all a thing to wonder at when one considers that there is a great courant d’air here. I will take you into the parlour, where it is altogether cosy, and procure for you a glass of cognac.”

Mr Stubbs’s eye glistened a little, but he shook his head. “It’s very kind of you, miss, but I’ve a fancy to stay right where I am, d’ye see? You don’t happen to be staying in this here inn, do you?”

“But certainly I am staying here!” responded Eustacie. “I am staying with Sir Hugh Thane, who is a Justice of the Peace, and with Miss Thane.”

“You are?” said Mr Stubbs. “Well now, that’s a very fortunate circumstance, that is. You don’t happen to have seen anything of a young cove—a mighty flash young cove—Lurking?”

Eustacie looked rather bewildered, and said: “Plait-il? Lurking?”

“Or skulking?” suggested Mr Stubbs. He drew forth from his pocket a well-worn notebook, and, licking his thumb, began to turn over its pages.

“What is that?” asked Eustacie, eyeing the book with misgiving.

“This is my Occurrence Book, missy. There are plenty of coves would like to get their dabblers on it, I can tell you. There’s things in this book as’ll send a good few to the Nubbing Cheat one day,” said Mr Stubbs darkly.

“Oh,” said Eustacie, wishing that Nye would come, and wondering how to lure Mr Stubbs away from the stairs. If only Ludovic had not injured his shoulder he might have climbed out of a window, she thought, but with one arm in a sling that was out of the question.

Mr Stubbs, finding his place in his Occurrence Book, said: “Here we are, now. Has there been a young cove here, missy, with blue eyes, light hair, features aquiline, height about five feet ten inches—”

Eustacie interrupted this recital. “But yes, you describe to me Sir Hugh Thane, only he is taller, I think, and me, I should say that he has grey eyes.”

“The cove this here description fits is a cove by the name of Loodervic Lavenham,” said Mr Stubbs.

Eustacie at once executed a start. “But are you mad? Ludovic Lavenham is my cousin, enfin!”

Mr Stubbs stared at her fixedly. “You say this Loodervic Lavenham’s your cousin, miss?” he said, his voice pregnant with suspicion.

“Of course he is!” replied Eustacie. “He is a very wicked creature who has brought disgrace to us, and we do not speak of him even. Why have you come to look for him? He went away from England two years ago!”

Mr Stubbs caressed his chin, still keeping his eyes on Eustacie’s face. “Oh!” he said slowly. “He wouldn’t happen to be staying in this inn right now, I suppose?”

“Staying here?” gasped Eustacie. “In the same place with me? No! I tell you, he is in disgrace—quite cast-off!”

“Ah!” said Mr Stubbs. “What would you say if I was to tell you that this very Loodervic Lavenham is lurking somewhere in these parts?”

“I do not think so,” said Eustacie, with a shake of her head. “And I hope very much that it is not true, because there has been enough disgrace for us, and we do not desire that there should be any more.” An idea occurred to her. She added: “I see now that you are a very brave man, and I will tell you that if my cousin is truly in Sussex you must be excessively careful.”

Mr Stubbs looked at her rather more fixedly than before. “Oh, I must, must I?” he said.

“You have not been warned then?” cried Eustacie, shocked.

“No,” said Mr Stubbs. “I ain’t been warned particular.”

“But it is infamous that they have not told you!” declared Eustacie. “Je n’en reviendrai jamais!”

“If it’s all the same to you, miss, I’d just as soon you’d talk in a Christian language,” said Mr Stubbs. “What was it they had ought to have warned me about?”

Eustacie spread out her hands. “His pistols!” she said dramatically. “Do you not know that my cousin is the man who put out sixteen candles by shooting them, and did not miss one?”

Mr Stubbs cast an involuntary glance behind him. “He put out sixteen candles?” he demanded.

“But yes, have I not said so?”

“And he didn’t miss one of them?”

“He never misses,” said Eustacie.

Mr Stubbs drew in his breath. “They had ought to have warned me!” he said feelingly.

“Certainly they—” Eustacie broke off, startled by a crash in the room above their heads, and the muffled sound of a shriek. Who could possibly be upstairs save Ludovic, she could not imagine, but Ludovic would hardly shriek, even if he had knocked something over in one of the bedchambers.

Then, to her amazement, she heard a door open, and hurrying footsteps approach the head of the stairs. A high-pitched voice wailed: “Oh, oh, what shall I do? Oh, Mr Nye, look what I’ve done!” And down the stairs came a gawky female in a large mob-cap and a stuff gown which Eustacie, transfixed by astonishment, instantly recognized as Miss Thane’s. A shawl enveloped the apparition’s shoulders, and she held one corner of it up to her eyes with her left hand. In her right she carried the fragments of a flagon that had once contained Miss Thane’s French perfume. “Oh, Mr Nye!” she whimpered. “Mistress will kill me if she finds out—oh!” The last word took the form of a scream as the newcomer caught sight of Eustacie. “Oh, miss, I beg pardon!” she gasped. “I thought you was gone out! I’ve—I’ve had an accident, miss! Oh, I’m that sorry, miss, I’m sure.”

Eustacie made a strangled sound in her throat, and rose nobly to the occasion. Running forward, she seized the gawky female’s right wrist, and cried in a quivering voice: “Wretched, wicked creature! You have broken my scent bottle! Ah, it is too much, enfin!”

The jagged fragments of glass were relinquished into her keeping, and with them, slid into the palm of her hand, a great ruby ring.