inconsiderable roles in this dramatic progress of yours. Three years ago you were once again under the hatches. I forget what it cost to extricate you from your embarrassments, but I do seem to recall that you gave your word you would not again indulge in—er—quite so many excesses.”
“Well, I’m n-not expecting
“What’s the figure?” Sir Richard asked.
“How should I know? I’m n-not a damned b-banking clerk! T-twelve thousand or so, I dare say. If you hadn’t spoiled my g-game, I c-could have settled the whole thing.”
“You delude yourself. When I encountered your friend Yarde he was making for the coast with the diamonds in his pocket.”
“Where are they now?”
“In my pocket,” Sir Richard said coolly.
Beverley lifted his head. “L-listen, Richard, you’re not a b-bad fellow! Who’s to know you ever had the d- diamonds in your hands? It ain’t your affair: give them to m-me, and forget all about the rest! I swear I’ll n-never breathe a w-word to a soul!”
“Do you know, Beverley, you nauseate me? As for giving you the diamonds, I have come here with exactly that purpose.”
Beverley’s hand shot out. “I d-don’t care what you think of m-me! Only hand the n-necklace over!”
“Certainly,” Sir Richard said, taking the leather purse out of his pocket. “But you, Beverley, will give them back to your mother.”
Beverley stared at him. “I’ll be d-damned if I will! You fool, how could I?”
“You may concoct what plausible tale you please: I will even engage myself to lend it my support. But you will give back the necklace.”
A slight sneer disfigured Beverley’s face. “Oh, j-just as you l-like! Hand it over!”
Sir Richard tossed the purse over to him. “Ah, Beverley! Perhaps I should make it clear to you that if, when I return to town, it has not been restored to Lady Saar I shall be compelled to—er—split on you.”
“You won’t!” Beverley said, stowing the purrse away in an inner pocket. “M-mighty pretty behaviour for a b- brother-in-law!”
“But I am not your brother-in-law,” said Sir Richard gently.
“Oh, you n-needn’t think I don’t know you’re g-going to m-marry Melissa! Our scandals will become yours too. I think you’ll keep your m-mouth shut.”
“I am always sorry to disappoint expectations, but I have not the smallest intention of marrying your sister,” said Sir Richard, taking another pinch of snuff.
Beverley’s jaw dropped. “You d-don’t mean she w-wouldn’t have you?”
“No, I don’t mean that.”
“B-but it’s as g-good as settled!”
“Not, believe me, by me.”
“The d-devil!” Beverley said blankly.
“So you see,” pursued Sir Richard, “I should have no compunction whatsoever in informing Saar of this episode.”
“You w-wouldn’t split on me to my f-father!” Beverley cried, jumping up from the tree-stump.
“That, my dear Beverley, rests entirely with you.”
“But, d-damn it, m-man, I
“I fancy that to have married into your family would have cost me considerably more than twelve thousand pounds. I am prepared to settle your debts—ah, for-the last time, Beverley!”
“D-devilish good of you,” muttered Beverley. “G-give me the money, and I’ll settle ’em myself.”
“I fear that your intercourse with Captain Trimble has led you to credit others with his trusting disposition. I, alas, repose not the slightest reliance on your word. You may send a statement of your debts to my town house. I think that is all—except that you will be recalled to London suddenly, and you will leave Crome Hall, if you are wise, not later than to-morrow morning.”
“Blister it, I w-won’t be ordered about by y-you! I’ll leave w-when I choose!”
“If you don’t choose to do so in the morning, you will leave in the custody of a Bow Street Runner.”
Beverley coloured hotly. “By G-God, I’ll p-pay you for this, Richard!”
“But not, if I know you, until I have settled your debts,” said Sir Richard, turning on his heel.
Beverley stood still, watching him walk away down the path, until the undergrowth hid him from sight. It was several minutes before it occurred to him that although Sir Richard had been unpleasantly frank on some subjects, he had not divulged how or why he came to be in Queen Charlton.
Beverley frowned over this. Sir Richard might, of course, be visiting friends in the neighbourhood, but apart from a house belonging to some heiress or other, Crome Hall was the only country seat of any size for several miles. The more Beverley considered the matter, the more inexplicable became Sir Richard’s presence. From a sort of sullen curiosity, he passed easily to a mood of suspicion, and began to think that there was something very odd about the whole affair, and to wonder whether any profit could be made out of it.
He was not in the least grateful to Sir Richard for promising to pay his debts. He certainly wished to silence his more rapacious creditors, but he would have considered it a stupid waste of money to settle any bill which could possibly be held over to some later date. Moreover, the mere payment of his debts would not line his pockets, and it was hard to see how he was to continue to support life in the manner to which he was accustomed.
He took the necklace out, and looked at it. It was a singularly fine specimen of the jeweller’s art, and several of the stones in it were of a truly formidable size. It was worth perhaps twice twelve thousand pounds. One did not, of course, find it easy to obtain the real value of stolen goods, but even if he had been forced to sell it for as little as twenty thousand pounds he would still have been eight thousand pounds in pocket, since there was no longer the least necessity to share the proceeds with Horace Trimble. Trimble, Beverley thought, has bungled the affair, and deserved nothing. If only Richard could be silenced, Trimble need never know that the necklace had been recovered from Jimmy Yarde, and it could be sold to the sole advantage of the only one of the three persons implicated in its theft who had a real right to it.
The more he reflected on these lines, and the longer he gazed at the diamonds, the more fixed became Beverley’s conviction that Sir Richard, instead of assisting him in his financial difficulties, had actually robbed him of eight thousand pounds, if not more. A burning sense of injury possessed him, and if he could at that moment have done Sir Richard an injury, without incurring any himself, he would certainly have jumped at the chance.
But short of lying in wait for him, and shooting him, there did not seem to be anything he could do to Richard, with advantage; and although he would have been very glad to have heard of Richard’s sudden death, and would have thought it, quite sincerely, a judgment on him, his murderous inclination was limited, to do him justice, to a strong wish that Richard would fall out of a window, and break his neck, or be set upon by armed highwaymen, and summarily slain. At the same time, there was undoubtedly something queer about Richard’s being in this remote village, and it might be worth while to discover what had brought him to Queen Charlton.
Sir Richard, meanwhile, walked back to the village, arriving at the George in time to see a couple of sweating horses being led into the stable, and a postchaise being pushed into one corner of the roomy yard. He was therefore fully prepared to encounter strangers in the inn, and any doubts of their identity were set at rest upon his stepping into the entrance-parlour, and perceiving a matron with an imposing front seated upon one of the oaken settles, and vigorously fanning her heated countenance. At her elbow stood a stockily built young gentleman with his hair brushed into a Brutus, mopping his brow. He had somewhat globular eyes of no particular colour, and when seen in profile bore a distinct likeness to a hake.
The same unfortunate resemblance was to be observed, though in a less pronounced degree, in Mrs Griffin. The lady was built on massive lines, and appeared to be feeling the heat. Possibly a travelling costume of purple satin trimmed with a quantity of sarsenet, and worn under a spencer, and a voluminous cloak of drab merino cloth, might have contributed to her discomfort. Her locks were confined in a round cap, and over this she wore a beehive bonnet of moss-straw, trimmed with enough plumes to remind Sir Richard forcibly of a hearse. The landlord was standing in front of her in an attitude of concern, and as Sir Richard stepped into the entrance-parlour, she said in tones of strong resolution: “You are deceiving me! I demand to have this—this youth brought before me!”
