“Ah, no doubt you value it highly then,” remarked his lordship sympathetically.
“Just so,” said Sir Roland. “Sentiment, you know. Should be gla,d to put my hand on it again.”
“I regret infinitely that I am unable to help you. May I suggest that you look for it in Montacute’s house? I think you said you spent the evening there?”
“I didn’t lose it there,” replied Sir Roland firmly. “Naturally went there first.”
Lethbridge shrugged. “How very unfortunate! I fear you must have dropped it in the street.”
“Not in the street, no. Remember having it on just before I came here.”
“Dear me!” said Lethbridge. “What makes you remember so particularly?”
Sir Roland took a moment to think this out. “Remember it because Pel said: “That’s a queer tie-pin, Pom.” And I said: “Belonged to my great-aunt.” Then we came here. Must have had it on then.”
“It would certainly seem so. But perhaps you lost it after you left my house. Or do you remember that Winwood then said: “Where’s your tie-pin?” “
“That’s it,” said Sir Roland, grateful for the assistance. “Pel said: “Why, what’s become of your tie-pin, Pom?” Didn’t come back—time getting on, you know. Knew it would be safe here!”
Lethbridge shook his head. “I fear your recollection is not very clear, Pommeroy. I have not got your brooch.”
There was nothing for Sir Roland to do after that but to take his leave. Lord Lethbridge escorted him out into the hall, and sweetly bade him farewell. “And do pray advise me if you succeed in finding the brooch,” he said with great civility. He watched his crestfallen visitor go off down the steps, and transferred his gaze to the porter’s face. “Send Moxton to me,” he said, and went back into the saloon.
In a few moments his butler appeared. “My lord?”
“When this room was swept this morning, was a brooch found?” asked Lethbridge.
The lids descended discreetly over the butler’s eyes. “I have not heard of it, my lord.”
“Make inquiries.”
“Yes, my lord.”
While the butler was out of the room, Lethbridge stood looking out of the window, slightly frowning. When Moxton came back he turned. “Well?”
“No, my lord.”
The frown lingered. “Very well,” Lethbridge said.
The butler bowed. “Yes, my lord. Your lordship’s luncheon is served.”
Lethbridge went into the dining-room, still attired in his dressing-gown, still wearing a thoughtful, puzzled look on his face.
He sat for some time over his meal, absently sipping his port. He was not, as he had told Caroline Massey, the man to gnash his teeth over his own discomfiture, but the miscarriage of last night’s plans had annoyed him. That little vixen wanted taming. The affair had become tinged, in his mind, with a spotting element. Horatia had won the first encounter; it became a matter of supreme importance to force a second one, which’s,he would not win. The brooch seemed to present him with the opportunity he lacked—if he could only lay his hand on it.
His mind went back; his acute memory re-created for him the sound of ripping lace. He raised his glass to his lips, savouring the port. Ah, yes, undoubtedly the brooch had been lost then. No doubt a distinctive trinket, possibly part of the Drelincourt jewels. He smiled a little, picturing Horatia’s dismay. It could be turned into a shrewd weapon, that ring-brooch—wielded in the right hands.
The brooch was not in his house, unless his servants were lying. He did not, for more than a fleeting moment, suspect any of them of theft. They had been with him some years; probably knew that he was an ill master to cheat.
The image of Mr Drelincourt’s face flashed across his mind. He set down his glass. Crosby. Such a sharp-eyed fellow, Crosby. But had he had the opportunity to pick up a brooch from the floor unseen? He went over his movements during that brief visit. Crosby’s arrival: no chance then. The departure of Winwood and Pommeroy. Had he taken them to the door? No. Still no chance for Crosby. Some talk he had had with him, not very much, for his head had been aching furiously, and then what? His fingers closed again around the stem of his glass, and instantly he remembered drinking a glass of wine to steady himself. Yes, certainly a chance for Crosby then. He had tossed off the wine, and turned. Now, had Crosby had one hand in his pocket? The picture lived again; he could see Crosby standing behind a chair, looking at him, withdrawing his hand from his pocket.
Really, it was quite amusing. There was no proof, of course, not a shadow of proof, but perhaps a visit to Crosby might be not unfruitful. Yes, one might hazard a guess that the brooch was an heirloom. Crosby—an astute fellow: quite needle-sharp—would recognize a Drelincourt heirloom. Decidedly, a visit to Crosby was likely to repay one for one’s trouble. Crosby, no doubt, was hatching a little plan to make mischief between Rule and his bride. Well, he would spare Crosby the pains. There should be mischief enough, but more mischief than the mere displaying of a brooch.
He got up from the table, and went in a leisurely fashion up the stairs, still revolving these delectable thoughts in his head. What a surprise for dear Crosby to receive a call from my Lord Lethbridge! He rang his hand- bell for his valet, and discarding his dressing-gown, sat down before the mirror to complete his elaborate toilet.
On his way, an hour later, to Mr Drelincourt’s lodging, he looked in at White’s but was told upon inquiry that Mr Drelincourt had not been into the Club that day. He went on towards Jermyn Street, twirling his ebony cane.
Mr Drelincourt lived in a house owned by a retired gentleman’s gentleman, who himself opened the door to his lordship. He said that Mr Drelincourt was gone out.
“Perhaps,” said his lordship, “you can give me his direction.”
Oh, yes, that could easily be done. Mr Drelincourt was gone out of town, and had taken a small cloak-bag with him.
“Out of town, eh?” said his lordship, his eyes narrowing. He drew a guinea from his pocket, and began to juggle gently with it. “I wonder, can you tell me where, out of town?”
“Yes, my lord. To Meering,” replied Mr Bridges. “Mr Drelincourt desired me to hire a post-chaise for him, and set off at two o’clock. If your lordship had come twenty minutes ago, you’d have caught him.”
Lethbridge dropped the guinea into his hand. “I may still catch him,” he said, and ran lightly down the steps of the house.
Hailing a hackney, he had himself driven back to Half-Moon Street. His household found itself goaded into sudden activity; a footman was sent off to the stables to order my lord’s light post-chaise and four to be brought round immediately, and my lord went upstairs, calling to his valet to bestir himself, and lay out a travelling dress. In twenty minutes his lordship, now clad in a coat of brown cloth, with his sword at his side, and top-boots on his feet, came out of the house again, gave his postilions certain pithy instructions, and climbed up into the chaise, a light carriage very like a sedan, slung on whip springs over very high wheels. As the equipage rounded the corner into Piccadilly, heading westwards, his lordship leaned back at his ease, calm in the knowledge that no hired post-chaise and four could hope to reach Meering, even with an hour’s start, before being overtaken by him.
Chapter Sixteen
Mr Drelincourt, as it happened, had no idea that Lord Lethbridge could be on his heels.
Not dreaming that anybody, least of all my Lord Lethbridge, had discovered his theft of the brooch, he saw no need to make haste down to Meering, and put off starting on his journey until after luncheon. Mr Drelincourt, though lavish in dress and some other matters, was very careful how he spent money on small items. The hiring of a chaise to carry him thirty-three miles into the country cost him a pang, and to pay, on top of that, possibly as much as four or five shillings for lunch at an inn would have seemed to him a gross extravagance. By lunching at his lodgings he would not be put to the necessity of baiting on the road at all, for he thought he would arrive at Meering in time to dine with his cousin. He would put up for the night there, and if Rule did not offer him one of his own carriages for his return it would be a shabby piece of behaviour, and one which he did not at all anticipate, for Rule, to do him justice, was not mean, and must be well aware that the charges for a post-chaise would be lightened if it made the
