“I’ll take devilish good care he don’t! But I think he don’t suspect me—yet! I’ve let it be known I’m a discharged trooper, and any flash language I use is due to my having been a batman. Rose—she is Miss Stornaway’s maid!—has told the woman who keeps this place clean, and cooks for me, that my mother was Brean’s aunt, who married a man in comfortable circumstances. It’s possible Coate really believes me to be Brean’s cousin—though I don’t think that. I fancy he don’t know yet what my—er—lay is! It don’t signify: he’ll find me harder to kill than Brean! But I’ve had some further thoughts on this head, Bab! One of the three confederates recognized Stogumber for a Runner—and I think that one must have been Gunn: he has been got rid of very quickly, which seems to tell its own tale! Now, it seems to me that neither Coate nor Stornaway can have had the least expectation of being known to any law-officer: they would not else be staying at the Manor so openly. It is certainly a bad thing for them that Gunn was known to Stogumber; but I think it was a worse thing for him to have been recognized. He had no expectation of that either, for he has been wandering about the country calling himself an agent of some sort, and that he would not have done had he known that a cracksman with whom he was already acquainted was mixed up in this business. Well, had it not been for Chirk, he must have suffered Brean’s fate, and gone to join him in the cavern. But Chirk chased off his assailants, and however much he may suspect that they were Coate and Gunn, he don’t know it for certain, since they had their faces muffled in their scarves. But Coate knows that he’s a Runner, and forewarned, Bab, is forearmed!”
“They’ll recall him from Bow Street, and send another in his stead!”
“That wouldn’t fadge! Any stranger will now be suspect by Coate! I hoped he might take fright, and run for it, but he’s a mighty cool customer, and he means to stand fast. That seems to mean that he knows nothing can be brought home to him. Well! Without me, it’s possible Stogumber may discover that cavern, and what it contains. But with me, he may be able to arrest Coate also; and I fancy he won’t quarrel with me over the means I took to bring that about!”
Chapter 14
FINDING it impossible to turn the Captain from his purpose, Mr. Babbacombe allowed himself to be diverted presently into talk of old campaigning days, and an exchange of news about erstwhile companions in arms. Dusk fell, and the two friends still sat on either side of the fire, fortified by tankards of Sopworthy’s best ale, and only occasionally interrupted by calls from the gate. By the time the daylight had quite gone, and the Captain went out to hang lamps on the gate, Mr. Babbacombe had begun to think of his dinner. It seemed to him a pity that John could scarcely accompany him to the inn, to share it; but when he learned that John had dined at midday he was quite aghast, and perceived that he had had, until that moment, a very incomplete conception of the rigours endured by gatekeepers.
“And I think,” said John, “you’d best stay here, Bab, and have supper with me. There will be Ben too—if the little wretch comes home in time!—but you won’t mind that! I’ll give you eggs, and ham, and sausages, and some excellent coffee. The thing is, I am determined to visit the Manor this evening, and I can’t leave this place under Ben’s charge after dark: he’s scared, and won’t stay here alone. If the Squire’s groom is unable to come to relieve guard, you could remain here till I come back, couldn’t you?”
“What, mind the pike?” exclaimed Mr. Babbacombe. “No, I’ll be damned if I do!”
“Oh, you needn’t do that! Ben will attend to any calls, and I daresay he won’t mind, if he knows you’re here to protect him.”
“Protect him from what?” demanded Mr. Babbacombe.
“Nothing—but he can’t be brought to believe that. Damn the brat, I wonder what mischief he’s up to? I must go up to attend to Beau. And, now I come to think of it, I never fed the hens, or the pig!”
With these conscience-stricken words, he seized a bucket, into which had been emptied various scraps of food, and went out into the garden. Mr. Babbacombe heard him at the pump a few minutes later, and he came in almost immediately, saying, as he dried his dripping hands on a toweclass="underline" “I suppose the hens had picked up all they wanted in the garden, for they’ve gone to roost; but the pig always seems to be starving! You know, Bab, when I started gatekeeping here I’d no notion how much work there was to do! What with the gate, and Beau, and those curst hens, and the pig, and the brat, and keeping my clothes in order, I never seem to have a moment in which to be idle! Confound you, don’t laugh! If Ben don’t come in soon, you shall have a taste of gatekeeping, for I won’t neglect my horse just because you’re too high in the instep to take over my duties for me! Besides, I want Beau here, not half a mile away!”
But at this moment the errant Ben slid into the kitchen from the office, his sharp countenance schooled to an expression of almost angelic innocence. One stocking had descended in rucks about his ankle, and was generously smeared with blood from a badly grazed leg; a rent in his shirt allowed a glimpse of a skinny chest; and every portion of his anatomy, unprotected by clothing, seemed to have attracted grime.
“Disgusting!” said his mentor, after a brief but comprehensive survey. “Take that shirt off, and get under the pump! No, don’t go without the soap, woolly-crown! And if I see one speck of dirt on you when you come in, I’ll send you to bed in the pigsty!”
In any ordinary circumstances, so exquisitely humorous a threat would have drawn from Ben its meed of his broadest grin, but he had by this time perceived Mr. Babbacombe. His mouth fell open, and his eyes widened to their fullest extent. Having taken that elegant gentleman in thoroughly, he gave utterance to his feelings with brevity and simplicity. “Coo!” he said reverently.
The Captain’s lips twitched, but he said severely: “Just so!
Be off and make yourself tidy directly! This gentleman can’t bear dirty boys!”
“Coo, he is a swell cove!” said Ben, accepting reluctantly the bar of soap thrust into his hand. “What’s he come here for, gov’nor?”
“He’s a friend of mine. Now, shake your shambles! I want to go up to Huggate’s barn!”
“He ain’t come to take you away?” Ben cried, with swift suspicion.
“No, no!” the Captain said, pushing him through the door. “He’s come to supper with us!”
“Yes, but I don’t think I have!” protested Mr. Babbacombe, who had been regarding his friend’s protégé with disfavour. “And if you think I mean to spend the evening here with that horrid brat—why, I’d as lief spend it with a Portuguese muleteer!”
“Nonsense! He’s quite a good lad. Did you never fall out of a tree yourself, and go home with a torn shirt, and dirt all over you? Besides, the poor little devil’s been orphaned!”
“What are you going to do with him?” demanded Mr. Babbacombe, looking at him with misgiving.
“Damned if I know!” confessed John. “I’m bound to look after him, of course. Might hand him to Cocking to train: he’s got a way with horses, and will make a splendid groom when he’s older.”
“I should think Cocking will enjoy that!” said Mr. Babbacombe sardonically.
But when Ben reappeared presently with a well-scrubbed face, and in his other shirt, he admitted that he was not so repulsive an urchin as at first sight he had thought him. Encouraged by this moderate praise, the Captain informed Ben that if Joseph Lydd did not come to the toll-house that evening, Mr. Babbacombe would stay to keep him company while he himself went out for an hour. Ben looked dubious, but the Captain said: “And he’s a soldier, too, so you needn’t be afraid he would let anyone carry you off! If anyone tried to, he would draw his pistol, and shoot him!”
“No, I dashed well would not!” said Mr. Babbacombe. “What’s more, I won’t be dragged into this business!”
“Won’t stand by me?” John said. “Bab!”