The Corinthian

“Good God!” Cedric said. His roving eye alighted on the decanter and the glasses which the waiter had left upon the table. He poured himself out a glass, and tossed it off. “That’s better. So Bev’s been murdered, has he? Well, I came here with a little notion of murdering him myself. Who did it?”

“Trimble, I imagine,” Sir Richard replied.

Cedric paused in the act of refilling his glass, and looked up quickly. “For the sake of the necklace?”

“Presumably.”

To Pen’s astonishment, Cedric broke into a shout of laughter. “Oh, by God, but that’s rich!” he gasped. “Oh, blister me, Ricky, that’s hell’s own jest!”

Sir Richard put up his eyeglass, surveying his young friend through it with faint surprise. “I did not, of course, expect the news to prostrate you with grief, but I confess I was hardly prepared—”

“Paste, dear old boy! nothing but paste!” said Cedric, doubled up over a chair-back.

The eyeglass dropped. “Dear me!” said Sir Richard. “Yes, I ought to have thought of that. Saar?”

“Years ago!” Cedric said, wiping his streaming eyes with the Belcher handkerchief. “Only came out when I—I, mark you, Ricky!—set the Bow Street Runners on to it! I thought m’ father was devilish lukewarm over the affair. Never guessed, however! There was m’ mother sending messenger upon messenger up to Brook Street, and the girls nagging at me, so off I went to Bow Street. Fact is, my head’s never at its best in the morning. No sooner had I set the bloodhounds on to the damned necklace than I began to think the thing over. I told you Bev was a bad man, Ricky. I’ll lay you a monkey he stole the necklace.”

Sir Richard nodded. “Quite true.”

“Damme, I call that going too far! M’ mother had a secret hiding-place made for it in her chaise. M’father knew. I knew. Bev knew. Dare say the girls knew. But no one else, d’ye mark me? Thought it all out at White’s. Nothing like brandy for clearing the head! Then I remembered that Bev took himself off to Bath last week. Never could imagine why! Thought I’d better look into things m’self. Just made up my mind to take a little journey to Bath, when in walked m’ father in a deuce of a pucker. He’d heard from Melissa that I’d been to Bow Street. Pounced on me, looking as queer as Dick’s hatband, and wanting to know what the devil I meant by setting the Runners on to it. Now, Ricky, dear boy, would you say I was a green ’un? Give you my word I never guessed what was coming! Always thought m’ father meant to stick to the diamonds! He sold ’em three years ago when he had that run of bad luck! Had ’em copied, so that no one was the wiser, not even my mother! He was as mad as Bedlam with me, and damme, I don’t blame him, for if my Runner ran the necklace to earth there’d be the devil to pay, and no pitch hot! So that’s why I’m here. But what beats me is, what in thunder brought you here?”

“You told me to run,” murmured Sir Richard.

“So I did, but to tell you the truth I never thought you would, dear boy. But why here? Out with it, Ricky! You never came here in search of Bev!”

“No, I didn’t. I came upon purely—er—family affairs. I fancy you have never met my young cousin, Pen Brown?”

“Never knew you had a cousin of that name. Who is he?” said Cedric cheerfully.

Sir Richard made a slight movement, indicating Pen’s presence. The room was deeply shadowed, for the waiter had not yet brought in the candles, and the twilight was fading. Cedric turned his head, and stared with narrowed eyes towards the window-seat, where Pen had been sitting, half hidden by the curtains. “Damme, I never saw you!” he exclaimed. “How d’ye do?”

“Mr Brandon, Pen,” Sir Richard explained.

She came forward to shake hands, just as the waiter entered with a couple of chandeliers. He set them down upon the table, and moved across the room to draw the curtains. The sudden glow of candlelight for a moment dazzled Cedric, but as he released Pen’s hand his vision cleared, and became riveted on her guinea-gold curls. A portentous frown gathered on his brow, as he struggled with an erratic memory. “Hey, wait a minute!” he said. “I haven’t seen you before, have I?”

“No, I don’t think so,” replied Pen in a small voice.

“That’s what I thought. But there’s something about you—did you say he was a cousin of yours, Ricky?”

“A distant cousin,” amended Sir Richard.

“Name of Brown?”

Sir Richard sighed. “Is it so marvellous?”

“Damme, dear boy, I’ve known you from m’ cradle, but I never heard of any relative of yours called Brown! What’s the game?”

“If I had guessed that you were so interested in the ramifications of my family, Cedric, I would have informed you of Pen’s existence.”

The waiter, interested, but unable to prolong his labours in the parlour, slowly and sadly withdrew.

“Something devilish queer about this!” pronounced Cedric, with a shake of his head. “Something at the back of my mind, too. Where’s that burgundy?”

“Well, I thought at first that I had met you before,” offered Pen. “But that was because of your likeness to the stam—to the other Mr Brandon.”

“Don’t tell me you knew him!” exclaimed Cedric.

“Not very well. We happened to meet him here.”

“I’ll tell you what, my lad: he was no fit company for a suckling like you,” said Cedric severely. He frowned upon her again, but apparently abandoned the effort to recall the errant memory, and turned back to Sir Richard. “But your cousin don’t explain your being here, Ricky. Damme, what did bring you to this place?”

“Chance,” replied Sir Richard. “I was—er—constrained to escort my cousin to this neighbourhood, upon urgent family affairs. Upon the way, we encountered an individual who was being pursued by a Bow Street Runner —your Runner, Ceddie—and who slipped a certain necklace into my cousin’s pocket.”

“You don’t mean it! But did you know Bev was here?”

“By no means. That fact was only revealed to me when I overheard him exchanging somewhat unguarded recriminations with the man whom I suppose to have murdered him. To be brief with you, there were three of them mixed up in this lamentable affair, and one of the three had bubbled the other two. I restored the necklace to Beverley, on the understanding that it should go back to Saar.”

Cedric cocked an eyebrow. “Steady now, Ricky, steady! I’m not cork-brained, dear old boy! Bev never consented to give the diamonds back—unless he was afraid you were going to mill his canister. Devilish lily-livered, Bev! Was that the way of it?”

“No,” said Sir Richard. “That was not the way of it.”

“Ricky, you fool, don’t tell me you bought him off!”

“I didn’t.”

“Promised to, eh? I warned you! I warned you to have nothing to do with Bev! However, if he’s dead there’s no harm done! Go on!”

“There is really very little more to tell you. Beverley was found—by me—dead, in a spinney not far from here, last night. The necklace had vanished.”

“The devil it had! Y’know, Ricky, this is a damned ugly business! And, the more I think of it the less I understand why you left town in such a hurry, and without a word to anyone. Now, don’t tell me you came on urgent family affairs, dear boy! You were disguised that night! Never seen you so foxed in my life! You said you were going to walk home, and by what the porter told George you had it fixed in your head your house was somewhere in the direction of Brook Street. Well, I’ll lay anyone what odds they like you did not go to serenade Melissa! Damme, what did happen to you?”

“Oh, I went home!” said Sir Richard placidly.

“Yes, but where did this young sprig come into it?” demanded Cedric, casting a puzzled glance at Pen.

“On my doorstep. He had come to find me, you see.”

“No, damn it, Ricky, that won’t do!” protested Cedric. “Not at three in the morning, dear boy!”

“Of course not!” interposed Pen. “I had been awaiting him—oh, for hours!”

“On the doorstep?” said Cedric incredulously.

“There were reasons why I did not wish the servants to know that I was in town,” explained Pen, with a false air of candour.

“Well, I never heard such a tale in my life!” said Cedric. “It ain’t like you, Ricky, it ain’t like you! I called to