The Essential Stanley J. Weyman Collection. Stanley J. Weyman

of the sullen or the dignified cast, has its limits; and these two, their tempers exasperated by a chilly journey taken fasting, had come very near to the end of sufferance. Fortunately, at the moment Mr. Dunborough--for he was the one--made the discovery that he could not endure Sir George's impassive face for so much as the hundredth part of another minute--and in consequence was having recourse to his invention for the most brutal remark with which to provoke him--the port and the landlord arrived together; and William, who had carried up the cold beef and stewed kidneys by another staircase, was heard on the landing. The host helped to place the dishes on the table. Then he shut out his assistant.

      'By your leave, Sir George,' he said diffidently. 'But the young lady you were inquiring for? Might I ask--?'

      He paused as if he feared to give offence. Sir George laid down his knife and fork and looked at him. Mr. Dunborough did the same. 'Yes, yes, man,' Soane said. 'Have you heard anything? Out with it!'

      'Well, sir, it is only--I was going to ask if her father lived in these parts.'

      'Her father?'

      'Yes, sir.'

      Mr. Dunborough burst into rude laughter. 'Oh, Lord!' he said. 'Are we grown so proper of a sudden? Her father, damme!'

      Sir George shot a glance of disdain at him. Then, 'My good fellow,' he said to the host, 'her father has been dead these fifteen years.'

      The landlord reddened, annoyed by the way Mr. Dunborough had taken him. 'The gentleman mistakes me, Sir George,' he said stiffly. 'I did not ask out of curiosity, as you, who know me, can guess; but to be plain, your honour, there are two gentlemen below stairs, just come in; and what beats me, though I did not tell them so, they are also in search of a young lady.'

      'Indeed?' Sir George answered, looking gravely at him. 'Probably they are from the Castle Inn at Marlborough, and are inquiring for the lady we are seeking.'

      'So I should have thought,' the landlord answered, nodding sagely; 'but one of the gentlemen says he is her father, and the other--'

      Sir George stared. 'Yes?' he said, 'What of the other?'

      'Is Mr. Pomeroy of Bastwick,' the host replied, lowering his voice. 'Doubtless your honour knows him?'

      'By name.'

      'He has naught to do with the young lady?'

      'Nothing in the world.'

      'I ask because--well, I don't like to speak ill of the quality, or of those by whom one lives, Sir George; but he has not got the best name in the county; and there have been wild doings at Bastwick of late, and writs and bailiffs and worse. So I did not up and tell him all I knew.'

      On a sudden Dunborough spoke. 'He was at College, at Pembroke,' he said. 'Doyley knows him. He'd know Tommy too; and we know Tommy is with the girl, and that they were both dropped Laycock way. Hang me, if I don't think there is something in this!' he continued, thrusting his feet into slippers: his boots were drying on the hearth. 'Thomasson is rogue enough for anything! See here, man,' he went on, rising and flinging down his napkin; 'do you go down and draw them into the hall, so that I can hear their voices. And I will come to the head of the stairs. Where is Bastwick?'

      'Between here and Melksham, but a bit off the road, sir.'

      'It would not be far from Laycock?'

      'No, your honour; I should think it would be within two or three miles of it. They are both on the flat the other side of the river.'

      'Go down! go down!' Mr. Dunborough answered. 'And pump him, man! Set him talking. I believe we have run the old fox to earth. It will be our fault if we don't find the vixen!'

      CHAPTER XXXII

      CHANCE MEDLEY

      By this time the arrival of a second pair of travellers hard on the heels of the first had roused the inn to full activity. Half-dressed servants flitted this way and that through the narrow passages, setting night-caps in the chambers, or bringing up clean snuffers and snuff trays. One was away to the buttery, to draw ale for the driver, another to the kitchen with William's orders to the cook. Lights began to shine in the hall and behind the diamond panes of the low-browed windows; a pleasant hum, a subdued bustle, filled the hospitable house.

      On entering the Yarmouth, however, the landlord was surprised to find only the clergyman awaiting him. Mr. Pomeroy, irritated by his long absence, had gone to the stables to learn what he could from the postboy. The landlord was nearer indeed than he knew to finding no one; for when he entered, Mr. Thomasson, unable to suppress his fears, was on his feet; another ten seconds, and the tutor would have fled panic-stricken from the house.

      The host did not suspect this, but Mr. Thomasson thought he did; and the thought added to his confusion. 'I--I was coming to ask what had happened to you,' he stammered. 'You will understand, I am very anxious to get news.'

      'To be sure, sir,' the landlord answered comfortably. 'Will you step this way, and I think we shall be able to ascertain something for certain?'

      But the tutor did not like his tone; moreover, he felt safer in the room than in the public hall. He shrank back. 'I--I think I will wait here until Mr. Pomeroy returns,' he said.

      The landlord raised his eyebrows. 'I thought you were anxious, sir,' he retorted, 'to get news?'

      'So I am, very anxious!' Mr. Thomasson replied, with a touch of the stiffness that marked his manner to those below him. 'Still, I think I had better wait here. Or, no, no!' he cried, afraid to stand out, 'I will come with you. But, you see, if she is not here, I am anxious to go in search of her as quickly as possible, where--wherever she is.'

      'To be sure, that is natural,' the landlord answered, holding the door open that the clergyman might pass out, 'seeing that you are her father, sir. I think you said you were her father?' he continued, as Mr. Thomasson, with a scared look round the hall, emerged from the room.

      'Ye--yes,' the tutor faltered; and wished himself in the street. 'At least--I am her step-father.'

      'Oh, her step-father!'

      'Yes,' Mr. Thomasson answered, faintly. How he cursed the folly that had put him in this false position! How much more strongly he would have cursed it, had he known what it was cast that dark shadow, as of a lurking man, on the upper part of the stairs!

      'Just so,' the landlord answered, as he paused at the foot of the staircase. 'And, if you please--what might your name be, sir?'

      A cold sweat rose on the tutor's brow; he looked helplessly towards the door. If he gave his name and the matter were followed up, he would be traced, and it was impossible to say what might not come of it. At last, 'Mr. Thomas,' he said, with a sneaking guilty look.

      'Mr. Thomas, your reverence?'

      'Yes.'

      'And the young lady's name would be Thomas, then?'

      'N-no,' Mr. Thomasson faltered. 'No. Her name--you see,' he continued, with a sickly smile, 'she is my step-daughter.'

      'To be sure, your reverence. So I understood. And her name?'

      The tutor glowered at his persecutor. 'I protest, you are monstrous inquisitive,' he said, with a sudden sorry air of offence. 'But, if you must know, her name is Masterson; and she has left her friends to join--to join a--an Irish adventurer.'

      It was unfortunately said; the more as the tutor in order to keep his eye on the door, by which he expected Mr. Pomeroy to re-enter, had turned his back on the staircase. The lie was scarcely off his lips when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and, twisting him round with a jerk, brought him face to face with an old friend. The tutor's eyes met those of Mr. Dunborough, he uttered one low shriek, and turned as white as paper. He knew that Nemesis had overtaken