Captain Heron held his peace. He reflected that there might well be more behind the story. He was not very well acquainted with Rule, but he remembered that Elizabeth had perceived the inflexibility about the Earl’s mouth, and had owned to some misgivings. Captain Heron had great faith in his wife’s judgement. It did not seem to him, from what Horatia unconsciously told him, that the pair were living in that perfect state of conjugal happiness which he and his fair Lizzie enjoyed. If there was already a slight coldness between them (which, since Horatia had declined going to Meering, there seemed to be) it was perhaps an ill moment to choose for the recounting of this improbable adventure. At the same time Captain Heron was not inclined to place much reliance on his brother-in- law’s powers of persuasion. He patted Horatia’s hand, and assured her it would all come right, but inwardly he was not very hopeful. However, he felt that he owed a great debt of gratitude to her for having given him his Lizzie, and it was with real sincerity that he offered to help her in any way that he could.
“I knew you w-would, Edward,” said Horatia, rather tremulously. “But perhaps P-Pel will get it, and then everything will be all right.”
It was a long time before the Viscount, still accompanied by the faithful Sir Roland, returned to Grosvenor Square, and Horatia had begun to fret, picturing some hideous scene of combat, convinced that the Viscount’s lifeless body would at any moment be borne in. When at last he walked in, she almost hurled herself on his chest. “Oh, P-Pel, I made sure you were d-dead!” she cried.
“Dead? Why the deuce should I be dead?” said the Viscountv removing his elegant cloth coat from her clutch. “No, I haven’t got the brooch. The fellow wasn’t in, blister him!”
“Not in? Then what are we to d-do?”
“Call again,” replied the Viscount grimly.
But the Viscount’s second call, made shortly before dinner, proved as fruitless as the first. “It’s my belief he’s keeping out of my way,” he said. “Well, I’ll catch him in the morning before he has a chance to go out. And if that damned porter tells me he’s out then, I’ll force my way in and see for myself.”
“Then I think I had better accompany you,” decided Captain Heron. “If you try to break into another man’s house there’s likely to be trouble.”
“Just what I said myself,” nodded Sir Roland, still in attendance. “Better all go. Call for you at your lodging, Pel.”
“Devilishly good of you, Pom,” said the Viscount. “Say nine o’clock.”
“Nine o’clock,” agreed Sir Roland. “Nothing for it but to go to bed betimes.”
Captain Heron was the first to arrive at the Viscount’s lodgings in Pall Mall next morning. He found the Viscount fully dressed, and busy with the loading of one of his silver-mounted pistols.
“There’s a sweet little pistol for you,” said the Viscount, stopping the hammer at half-cock. “Blew the pips out of a playing card with it once. Cheston laid me ten to one against. Why, you couldn’t miss with this pistol! At least,” he added naively, “I daresay you might, but I couldn’t.”
Captain Heron grinned at this aspersion cast on his marksmanship, and sat down on the edge of the table, watching the Viscount pour in his powder. “Well, all I beg of you is, don’t blow Lethbridge’s head off, Pelham!”
“Might have to wing him,” said the Viscount, picking up a piece of soft kid from the table and placing his ball in it. “I won’t kill him, though, damme, I’ll be hard put to it not to!” He lifted the gun, and with his thumb over the touch-hole gently rammed down the ball. “There you are. Where’s Pom? Might have known he’d over-sleep.” He slipped the pistol into his pocket, and stood up. “Y’know, Edward, this is the devil of a business,” he said seriously. “No knowing how Rule would take it if it came to his ears. Rely on you to help me.”
“Of course I’m going to help you,” replied Captain Heron. “If Lethbridge has the brooch, we’ll get it.”
Sir Roland appearing at this moment, they picked up their hats, and set off for Half-Moon Street. The porter who opened the door to them once more denied his master.
“Not in, eh?” said the Viscount. “Well, I think I’ll step in and take a look.”
“But he’s not in, my lord!” insisted the porter, holding the door. “He went out yesterday in his chaise, and is not back yet.”
“Don’t believe him, Pel,” counselled Sir Roland in the rear.
“But sir, indeed my lord is not in! There is another—well, a person, sir, asking for him besides yourself.”
Captain Heron set his sound shoulder to the door, and thrust it back.
“That’s mighty interesting,” he said. “We will step upstairs to be quite sure that his lordship has not come in unbeknown. In with you, Pel!”
The porter found himself driven firmly backwards, and raised a shout for help. A burly individual in a frieze greatcoat and a dirty neck-cloth, who was sitting on a chair in the narrow hall, looked on grinning but offered no assistance. The butler came puffing up the stairs, but paused when he saw the company. He bowed to the Viscount, and said severely: “His lordship is from home, my lord.”
“Perhaps you didn’t look under the bed,” said the Viscount.
A hoarse laugh from the man in the frieze coat greeted this sally. “Ah, you’ve hit it, your honour. He’s a peevy cull, and so I allus said.”
“Eh?” said Sir Roland, regarding him through his eye-glass. “Who’s this fellow Pel?”
“How the devil should I know?” demanded the Viscount. “Now you stay where you are, what-ever-your-name is. I’m going up to have a little talk with his lordship.”
The butler placed himself at the foot of the stairs. “Sir, his lordship is not in the house!” He saw the Viscount draw the pistol from his pocket, and gasped: “My lord!”
“Stand out of my way, or you might get hurt,” said the Viscount.
The butler retreated. “I assure your lordship—I—I don’t understand, my lord! My master is gone into the country!”
The Viscount gave a snort, and ran up the stairs. He came back in a very few moments. “True enough. He’s not there.”
“Loped off!” ejaculated the burly man. “Damn my blood if I ever deal with a flash cull again!” With which cryptic remark he drove his fist into his hat, and sat glowering.
The Viscount looked at him with interest. “What do you want with him, hey? Who are you?”
“That’s my business,” retorted the burly man. “Twenty rum guineas, that’s what I wants, and that’s what I’ll get if I stays here till tomorrow.”
Captain Heron spoke, addressing himself to the butler. “Our business with his lordship is urgent—can you inform us of his direction?”
“His lordship,” said the butler stiffly, “left no word, sir. Indeed, I wish that I were aware of his destination, for this—this person, sir, insists upon staying until his return, though I have warned him I shall send for a constable.”
“You don’t dare send for no harman,” said the burly man scornfully. “I knows what I know, ah, and I knows who’ll sleep in Rumbo if I splits.”
Sir Roland, who had been listening intently to this speech, shook his head. “Y’know, I don’t follow what he says at all,” he remarked. “Rumbo? Never heard of the place.”
“The likes of you calls it Newgate,” explained the burly man. “I calls it Rumbo. See?”
The Viscount looked at him frowningly. “I’ve a notion I’ve met you before,” he said. “I don’t know your face, but damme, I do know your voice!”
“Might have been masked,” suggested Sir Roland helpfully.
“Lord, Pom, don’t be such a—Wait a bit, though! Masked?” The Viscount slapped his leg. “That’s given it to me! Blister it, you’re the rogue who tried to hold me up on Shooter’s Hill once!”
The burly man, who had changed colour, slid towards the door, muttering: “No, I never did so! It’s a lie!”
“Lord, I don’t bear you any malice,” said the Viscount cheerfully. “You got nothing from me.”
“A highwayman, is he?” said Sir Roland with interest. Devilish queer company Lethbridge keeps! Devilish queer!”
“H’m!” remarked Captain Heron, surveying the burly man with scant approval. “I can guess what your business is with his lordship, my man.”
“Can you?” said Sir Roland. “Well, what is it?”
“Use your wits,” said Captain Heron unkindly. “I should like very much to give him up to the Watch, but I suppose we can’t.” He turned to the butler. “I want you to cast your mind back. The night before last a brooch was
