am accounted to have a reasonably strong head. I should not like you to waste your time, Mr Yarde.”
Jimmy was not at all abashed. He grinned, and said: “Ah, I said you was a peevy cull! Knowed it as soon as I clapped my daylights on to you. You learned to drink Blue Ruin in Cribb’s parlour!”
“Quite right,” said Sir Richard.
“Oh, I knowed it, bless your heart! “That there gentry-cove would peel remarkably well,” I says to myself. “And a handy bunch of fives he’s got.” Never you fret, guv’nor: Jimmy Yarde’s no green “un. What snabbles me, though, is how you come to be travelling in the common rumble.”
Sir Richard gave a soft laugh suddenly. “You see, I have lost all my money,” he said.
“Lost all your money?” repeated Jimmy, astonished.
“On “Change,” added Sir Richard.
The light, sharp eyes flickered over his elegant person. “Ah, you’re trying to gammon me! What’s the lay?”
“None at all.”
“Dang me if I ever met such a cursed rum touch!” A suspicion crossed his mind. “You ain’t killed your man, guv’nor?”
“No. Have you?”
Jimmy looked quite alarmed. “Not me, guv’nor, not me! I don’t hold with violence, any gait.”
Sir Richard helped himself to a leisurely pinch of snuff. “Just the Knuckle, eh?”
Jimmy gave a start, and looked at him with uneasy respect. “What would the likes of you know about the Knuckle?”
“Not very much, admittedly. I believe it means the filching of watches, snuff-boxes, and such-like from the pockets of the unsuspecting.”
“Here!” said Jimmy, looking very hard at him across the table, “you don’t work the Drop, do you?”
Sir Richard shook his head.
“You ain’t a Picker-up, or p’raps a Kidd?”
“No,” said Sir Richard. “I am quite honest—what you, I fancy, call a Flat.”
“I don’t!” Jimmy said emphatically. “I never met a flat what was so unaccountable knowing as what you are, guv’nor; and what’s more I hope I don’t meet one again!”
He watched Sir Richard rise to his feet, and kindle his bedroom candle at the guttering one on the table. He was frowning in a puzzled way, clearly uncertain in his mind. “Going to bed, guv’nor?”
Sir Richard glanced down at him. “Yes. I did warn you that I am a shockingly light sleeper, did I not?”
“Lord, you ain’t got no need to fear me!”
“I am quite sure I have not,” smiled Sir Richard.
When Jimmy Yarde, an hour later, softly tiptoed into the low-pitched bed-chamber above the parlour, Sir Richard lay to all appearances peacefully asleep. Jimmy edged close to the bed, and stood watching him, and listening to his even breathing.
“Don’t drop hot tallow on me, I beg!” said Sir Richard, not opening his eyes.
Jimmy Yarde jumped, and swore.
“Quite so,” said Sir Richard.
Jimmy Yarde cast him a look of venomous dislike, and in silence undressed, and got into the neighbouring bed.
He awoke at an early hour, to hear roosters crowing from farm to farm in the distance. The sun was up, but the day was still misty, and the air very, fresh. The bed creaked under him as he sat up, but it did not rouse Sir Richard. Jimmy Yarde slid out of it cautiously, and dressed himself. On the dimity-covered table by the window, Sir Richard’s gold quizzing-glass and snuff-box lay, carelessly discarded. Jimmy looked wistfully at him. He was something of a connoisseur in snuff-boxes, and his fingers itched to slip this one into his pocket. He glanced uncertainly towards the bed. Sir Richard sighed in his sleep. His coat hung over a chair within Jimmy’s reach. Keeping his eyes on Sir Richard, Jimmy felt in its pockets. Nothing but a handkerchief rewarded his search. But Sir Richard had given no sign of returning consciousness. Jimmy picked up the snuff-box, and inspected it. Still no movement from the bed. Emboldened, Jimmy dropped it into his capacious pocket. The quizzing-glass swiftly followed it. Jimmy went stealthily towards the door. As he reached it, a yawn made him halt in his tracks, and spin round.
Sir Richard stretched, and yawned again. “You’re up early, my friend,” he remarked.
“That’s right,” said Jimmy, anxious to be gone before his theft could be discovered. “I’m not one for lying abed on a fine summer’s morning. I’ll get a breath of air before I have my breakfast. Daresay we’ll meet downstairs, eh, guv’nor?”
“I dare say we shall,” agreed Sir Richard. “But in case we don’t, I’ll relieve you of my snuff-box and my eyeglass now.”
Exasperated, Jimmy let fall the modest bundle which contained his nightgear. “Dang me, if I ever met such a leery cove in all my puff!” he said. “You never saw me lift that lobb!”
“I warned you that I was a shockingly light sleeper,” said Sir Richard.
“Bubbled by a gudgeon!” said Jimmy disgustedly, handing over the booty. “Here you are: there’s no need for you to go calling in any harman, eh?”
“None at all,” replied Sir Richard.
“Damme, you’re a blood after my own fancy, guv’nor! No hard feeling?”
“Not the least in the world.”
“I wish I knew what your lay might be,” Jimmy said wistfully, and departed, shaking his head over the problem.
Downstairs he found Pen Creed, who had also awakened early. She bade him a cheerful good-morning, and said that she had been out, and was of the opinion that it was going to be a hot day. When he asked her if she and her uncle meant to board the next stage-coach to Bristol, she replied prudently that her uncle had not yet told her what they were going to do.
“You are bound for Bristol, ain’t you?” enquired Jimmy.
“Oh yes!” said Pen, with a beautiful disregard for the truth.
They were standing in the taproom, which, at that hour of the morning, was empty, and just as Pen was beginning to say that she wanted her breakfast, the landlady came through the door leading from the kitchen, and asked them if they had heard the news.
“What news?” Pen asked uneasily.
“Why, everyone’s in quite a pucker up at Wroxhall, us being quiet folk, and not used to town-ways. But there’s my boy Jim come in saying there’s one of they Bow Street Runners come down by the Mail. What he may want, surely to goodness there’s none of us knows! They do say as how he stopped off at Calne, and come on easy-like to Wroxhall. And there he be, poking his nose into respectable houses, and asking all manner of questions! Well, what I say is, we’ve nothing to hide, and he may come here if he pleases, but he will learn nothing.”
“Is he coming here?” asked Pen, in a faint voice.
“Going to all the inns hereabout, by what they tell me,” responded the landlady. “Jim took the notion into his head it’s all along of the stage-coach which you and your good uncle was on, sir, for seemingly he’s been asking a mort of questions about the passengers. Our Sam looks to see him here inside of half an hour. “Well,” I says, “let him come, for I’m an honest woman, and there’s never been a word said against the house, not to my knowledge!” Your breakfast will be on the table in ten minutes, sir.”
She bustled into the parlour, leaving Pen rather pale, and Jimmy Yarde suddenly thoughtful. “Runners, eh?” said that worthy, stroking his chin. “There now!”
“I have never seen one,” said Pen, with a creditable show of nonchalance. “It will be most interesting. I wonder what he can want?”
“There’s no telling,” replied Jimmy, his lashless eyes dwelling upon her in a considering stare. “No telling at all. Seems to me, though, he won’t be wanting a flash young chub like you.”
“Why, of course not!” replied Pen, forcing a laugh.
“That’s what I thought,” said Jimmy, transferring his gaze to the long coat which had been flung across one of the tables. “Might that be your toge, young shaver?”
“Yes, but I didn’t need it after all. It is much warmer outside than I thought it would be.”
