“Oh yes, I saw him! Really, I don’t think anything of particular moment happened.”
“He didn’t try to murder you?”
“Nothing so exciting. He tried merely to recover the diamonds. When he—er—failed to do so, we enjoyed a short conversation, after which he left the inn, as unobtrusively as he had entered it.”
“Through the window, you mean. Well, I am glad you let him go, for I could not help liking him. But what are we going to do now, if you please?”
“We are now going to eliminate Beverley,” replied Sir Richard, carving the ham.
“Oh, the stammering-man! How shall we do that? He sounded very disagreeable, but I don’t think we should eliminate him in a rough way, do you?”
“By no means. Leave the matter in my hands, and I will engage for it that he will be eliminated without the least pain or inconvenience to anyone.”
“Yes, but then there is the necklace,” Pen pointed out. “I feel that before we attend to anything else we ought to get rid of it. Only fancy if you were to be found with it in your pocket!”
“Very true. But I have arranged for that. The necklace belongs to Beverley’s mother, and he shall restore it to her.”
Pen laid down her knife and fork. “Then that explains it all! I thought that stammering-man had more to do with it than you would tell me. I suppose he hired Jimmy Yarde, and that other person, to steal the necklace?” She wrinkled her brow. “I don’t wish to say rude things about your friends, Richard, but it seems to me very wrong of him—most improper!”
“Most,” he agreed.
“Even dastardly!”
“I think we might call it dastardly.”
“Well, that is what it seems to me. I see now that there is a great deal in what Aunt Almeria says. She considers that there are terrible pitfalls in Society.”
Sir Richard shook his head sadly. “Alas, too true!”
“And vice,” said Pen awfully. “Profligacy, and extravagance, you know.”
“I know.”
She picked up her knife and fork again. “It must be very exciting,” she said enviously.
“Far be it from me to destroy your illusions, but I feel I should inform you that stealing one’s mother’s diamonds is not the invariable practice of members of the haut ton.”
“Of course not. I know that!” said Pen with dignity. She added in persuasive tones: “Shall I come with you when you go to meet the stammering-man?”
“No,” answered Sir Richard, not mincing matters.
“I thought you would say that. I wish I were really a man.”
“I still should not take you with me.”
“Then you would be very selfish, and disagreeable, and altogether abominable!” declared Pen roundly.
“I think I am,” reflected Sir Richard, recalling his sister’s homily.
The large eyes softened instantly, and as they scanned Sir Richard’s face a slight flush mounted to Pen’s cheeks. She bent over her plate again, saying in a gruff little voice: “No, you are not. You are very kind, and obliging, and I am sorry I teased you.”
Sir Richard looked at her. He seemed to be about to speak, but she forestalled him, adding buoyantly: “And when I tell Piers how well you have looked after me, he will be most grateful to you, I assure you.”
“Will he?” said Sir Richard, at his dryest. “I am afraid I was forgetting Piers.”
Chapter 7
The spinney down the road, referred to by Beverley in his assignation with Captain Trimble, was not hard to locate. A careless question put to one of the ostlers elicited the information that it formed part of the grounds of Crome Hall. Leaving Pen to keep a sharp look-out for signs of an invasion by her relatives, Sir Richard set out shortly before eleven o’clock, to keep Captain Trimble’s appointment. The impetuous Captain had indeed called for his horse, and had set off in the direction of Bristol, with his cloak-bag strapped on to the saddle. He had paid his shot, so it did not seem as though he contemplated returning to Queen Charlton.
At the end of a ten-minute walk, Sir Richard reached the outskirts of the spinney. A gap in the hedge showed him a trodden path through the wood, and he followed this, glad to be out of the strong sunlight. The path led to a small clearing, where a tiny stream ran between clumps of rose-bay willow herb in full flower. Here a slightly built young gentleman, dressed in the extreme of fashion, was switching pettishly with his cane at the purple heads of the willow-herb. The points of his collar were so monstrous as to make it almost impossible for him to turn his head, and his coat fitted him so tightly that it seemed probable that it must have needed the combined efforts of three strong men to force him into it. Very tight pantaloons of a delicate biscuit-hue encased his rather spindly legs, and a pair of tasselled Hessians sneered at their sylvan surroundings.
The Honourable Beverley Brandon was not unlike his sister Melissa, but the classic cast of his features was spoiled by a pasty complexion, and a weakness about mouth and chin not shared by Melissa. He turned, as he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and started forward, only to be fetched up short by the sight, not of Captain Trimble’s burly figure, but of a tall, well-built gentleman in whom he had not the slightest difficulty in recognizing his prospective brother-in-law.
He let his malacca cane drop from suddenly nerveless fingers. His pale eyes stared at Sir Richard. “W-w-what the d-devil?” he stammered.
Sir Richard advanced unhurriedly across the clearing. “Good-morning, Beverley,” he said, in his pleasant, drawling voice.
“W-what are you d-doing here?” Beverley demanded, the wildest surmises chasing one another through his brain.
“Oh, enjoying the weather, Beverley, enjoying the weather! And you?”
“I’m staying with a friend. F-fellow I knew up at Oxford!”
“Indeed?” Sir Richard’s quizzing-glass swept the glade, as though in search of Mr Brandon’s host. “A delightful rendezvous! One would almost suspect you of having an assignation with someone!”
“N-no such thing! I was j-just taking the air!”
The quizzing-glass was levelled at him. Sir Richard’s pained eye ran over his person. “Putting the countryside to scorn, Beverley? Strange that you who care so much about your appearance should achieve such lamentable results! Now, Cedric cares nothing for his, but—er—always looks the gentleman.”
“You have a d-damned unpleasant tongue, Richard, b-but you needn’t think I’ll put up with it j-just because you’ve known me for y-years!”
“And how,” enquired Sir Richard, faintly interested, “do you propose to put a curb on my tongue?”
Beverley glared at him. He knew quite as well as Captain Trimble that Sir Richard’s exquisite tailoring and languid bearing were deceptive; that he sparred regularly with Gentleman Jackson, and was accounted one of the best amateur heavyweights in England. “W-what are you d-doing here?” he reiterated weakly.
“I came to keep your friend Trimble’s appointment with you,” said Sir Richard, removing a caterpillar from his sleeve. Ignoring a startled oath from Mr Brandon, he added: “Captain Trimble—by the way, you must tell me sometime where he acquired that unlikely title—found himself obliged to depart for Bristol this morning. Rather a hasty person, one is led to infer.”
“D-damn you, Richard, you mean you sent him off! W-what do you know about Trimble, and why did—”
“Yes, I fear that some chance words of mine may perhaps have influenced him. There was a man in a catskin waistcoat—dear me, there seems to be a fatal spell attached to that waistcoat! You look quite pale, Beverley.”
Mr Brandon had indeed changed colour. He shouted: “S-stop it! So Yarde split, d-did he? Well, w-what the d-devil has it to do with you, hey?”
“Altruism, Beverley, sheer altruism. You see, your friend Yarde—you know, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of tools—saw fit to hand the Brandon diamonds into “my keeping.”