highwaymen—”
“Because this is a better way!” said the Viscount. “Great thing is to avoid a scandal. If I put a pistol to the fellow’s head, and he calls me out, where are we then? Worse off than ever! Affair’s bound to come to Rule’s ears, and if you think he won’t suspect Horry’s in it, you don’t know him. This way, we’ll have the brooch without a breath of scandal, and no one the wiser. Now, are you with me, or not, Edward?”
“Yes, I’m with you,” said Captain Heron. “There is something in what you say, if it doesn’t go awry!”
“It can’t go awry, man—unless that rogue’s left Lethbridge’s house.”
“Can’t have done that,” said Sir Roland. “Said he was going to stay there till he had his twenty guineas. Lethbridge not back—can’t have had ’em. Must be there still.”
Sir Roland proved to be right. When they arrived once more in Half-Moon Street, the burly man was still seated in the hall. The porter, as soon as he saw who it was on the doorstep, made a spirited attempt to slam the door. This was frustrated by Sir Roland, who hurled himself against it with great presence of mind, and nearly knocked the breath out of the porter by jamming him between the door and the wall. When he had extricated himself he found all three gentlemen inside the hall again, and groaned. However, as soon as it was explained to him that they only wanted to take away the burly man, he brightened considerably, and even permitted them to hail that worthy into the saloon for a little private conversation.
The burly man, confronted by the Viscount’s pistol, flung up his hands. “Don’t you go for to let off that pop, your honour!” he said huskily. “I ha’n’t done you a mite o’ harm!”
“Not a mite,” agreed the Viscount. “What’s more, I won’t do you any harm if you behave yourself. What’s your name? Come on, man, I’ve got to call you something, haven’t I?”
“You call me Ned. Ned Hawkins,” replied the burly man. “It ain’t the name, but it’s one I got a fancy for. Edward Hawkins, that’s me, at your service, gen’lemen.”
“We don’t want another Edward,” objected Sir Roland. “Heron’s name’s Edward, and we shall only get ’em mixed up.”
“Well, I don’t mind being Frederick—to oblige the company,” conceded Mr Hawkins.
“Hawkins will do,” replied the Viscount. “You’re on the High Toby, aren’t you?”
“Me?” exclaimed Mr Hawkins virtuously. “Cross me heart if—”
“That’ll do,” interrupted the Viscount. “Blew the hat off your head on Shooter’s Hill six months ago. Now I’ve got a piece of work for you to do. What do you say to twenty guineas, eh?”
Mr Hawkins recoiled. “Dang me if ever I works with a flash cull again, that’s what I says!”
The Viscount lifted his pistol. “Then I’ll hold you, while my friend there goes for a constable.”
“You dassn’t!” grinned Mr Hawkins. “You get me put in the Whit, and I takes his peevy lordship with me—ah, and how’ll you like that?”
“Pretty well,” said the Viscount. “He’s no friend of mine. Friend of yours?”
Mr Hawkins spat comprehensively. Sir Roland, his sense of propriety offended, interposed. “Here, I say, Pel, can’t have the fellow spitting all over another man’s house. Bad
“Don’t do that again!” ordered the Viscount. “What’s the use of it? Diddled you out of your money, hasn’t he?”
“Ay, loped off,” growled Mr Hawkins. “A boman prig, he is! When I gets my hands on him—”
“I can help you do that,” said the Viscount. “What do you say to holding him up?—for twenty guineas?”
Mr Hawkins looked suspiciously from one to the other. “What’s the lay?” he demanded.
“He’s got something I want,” said the Viscount briefly. “Make up your mind! The Watch, or twenty guineas?”
Mr Hawkins caressed his stubby chin. “Who’s in it? All of you coves?” he inquired.
“All of us. We’re going to hold up his chaise.”
“What, in them toges?” said Mr Hawkins, indicating the Viscount’s gold-laced coat.
“Of course not, you fool!” answered the Viscount impatiently. “That’s what we want you for. We must have three greatcoats like your own, and masks.”
A broad grin spread over Mr Hawkins’s countenance. “Damn my blood, but I like your spirit!” he announced. “I’ll do it! Where is this cull?”
“On the Bath Road, heading for London.”
“That’ll mean the Heath, that will,” nodded Mr Hawkins. “When’s it for?”
“Any time after noon. Can’t say precisely.”
Mr Hawkins pulled down his mouth. “Dang me if I like it, then. I like to work when the tattler’s up, see?”
“If there’s one thing we don’t want it’s any tattlers,” replied the Viscount firmly.
“Lord love your honour, ain’t you ever heard on the moon?”
“The moon! By the time that’s up our man will be safe in this house. This is daylight or nothing.”
Mr Hawkins sighed. “Just as you say, your honour. And you wants a set of toges and snaps? Bring your own nags?”
“Own horses, own pistols,” agreed the Viscount.
“You’ll have to mount me, then, Pelham,” put in Captain Heron.
“Mount you with pleasure, my dear fellow.”
“Own pops?” said Mr Hawkins. “Us bridle culls don’t use them little pops all over wedge, your honour.”
The Viscount glanced down at his pistol. “What’s wrong with it? Devilish good pistol. Gave a hundred guineas for the pair.”
Mr Hawkins pointed a grimy finger at the silver mountings. “All that wedge. That’s what’s wrong with it.”
“Oh, very well,” said the Viscount. “But I like my own pistols, you know. Now where do we get these coats and mufflers?”
“You know the Half-Way House?” said Mr Hawkins. “That’s where I’ll be. There’s a flash ken thereabouts, where I keeps my nag. I’ll be off there now, and when you comes, why dang me if I don’t have the toges and tyes ready for you!”
“And how do I know you will be there?” said the Viscount.
“Because I wants twenty guineas,” replied Mr Hawkins logically. “And because I wants to get my hands on that boman prig. That’s how.”
Chapter Twenty
An hour later three gentlemen might have been observed riding soberly out to Knightsbridge. Captain Heron, bestriding a raking chestnut from the Viscount’s stables, had changed his scarlet regimentals and his powdered wig for a plain suit of buff, and a brown tie-wig. He had found time, before joining the Viscount at his lodging, to call in Grosvenor Square again, where he had found Horatia in a fever of anxiety. When she learned of the new development in the affair, she first expressed herself as extremely dissatisfied that no one had killed the wretched Mr Drelincourt, and it was some few minutes before Captain Heron could induce her to speak of anything but that gentleman’s manifold iniquities. When her indignation had abated somewhat he laid the Viscount’s plan before her. This met with her instant approval. It was the cleverest notion she had ever heard of, and of course it could not fail.
Captain Heron warned her to keep her own counsel, and went off to Pall Mall. He had not much expectation of finding Mr Hawkins either at the Half-Way House or anywhere else, but it was obviously no use saying so to the optimistic Viscount. By this time his brother-in-law was in fine fettle, so that whether Mr Hawkins kept his appointment or not, it seemed probable that the plan would be carried out.
About a quarter of a mile before the Half-Way House was reached, a solitary rider, walking his horse, came into view. As they drew closer he looked over his shoulder, and Captain Heron was forced to admit that he had misjudged their new acquaintance.
Mr Hawkins greeted him jovially. “Dang me if you wasn’t a-speaking the truth!” he exclaimed. His eyes ran over the Viscount’s mare approvingly. “That’s a nice bit of horse-flesh, that is,” he nodded. “But tricksy—tricksy, I’ll
