She got up from the bank. ‘I shall see him tomorrow? But how do you know?’
‘I should have mentioned to you that I have just had the felicity of meeting him.’
‘Piers?’ she exclaimed. ‘Here? In the wood?’
‘Over Beverley Brandon’s body.’
‘I thought I heard voices! But how did he come to be here? And why didn’t you bring him to me directly?’
Sir Richard took time over his answer. ‘You see, I was under the impression that Miss Daubenay was still with you,’ he explained.
‘Oh, I see!’ said Pen innocently. ‘Yes, indeed, you did quite right! We don’t want her to be included in our adventure. But did you tell Piers about me?’
‘The moment did not seem to be propitious,’ confessed Sir Richard. ‘I told him to come to visit me at the George tomorrow morning, and on no account to divulge his presence in the wood tonight.’
‘What a surprise it will be to him when he finds me at the George!’ said Pen gleefully.
‘Yes,’ said Sir Richard. ‘I think it will be – a surprise to him.’
She fell into step beside him on their way back to the road. ‘I am glad you did not tell him! I suppose he had come to look for the stammering man? I can’t conceive how he could have had such a disagreeable person to visit him!’
Sir Richard, who had rarely, during the twenty-nine years of his existence, found himself at a loss, now discovered that he was totally incapable of imparting his own suspicions to his trusting companion. Apparently, it had not occurred to her that thesentiments of her old play-fellow might have undergone a change; and so fixed in her mind was a five-year-old pact of betrothal that it had not entered her head to question either its durable qualities, or its desirability. She evidently considered herself plighted to Piers Luttrell, a circumstance which had no doubt had much to do with her friendly acceptance of Sir Richard’s companionship. Phrases of warning half-formed themselves in Sir Richard’s brain, and were rejected. Piers would have to do his explaining; Sir Richard could only hope that upon coming face to face with him after a lapse of years, Pen might discover that as he had outgrown a childhood’s fancy, so too had she.
They entered the George together. Pen went up to bed at a nod from Sir Richard, but Sir Richard rang the bell for a servant. A sleepy waiter came in answer to the summons, and, upon being asked for the direction of the nearest magistrate, said that Sir Jasper Luttrell was the nearest, but was away from home. He knew of no other, so Sir Richard desired him to fetch the landlord to him, and sat down to write a short note to whom it might concern.
When the landlord came into the parlour, Sir Richard was shaking the sand off the single sheet of paper. He folded it, and sealed it with a wafer, and upon being told that Mr John Philips, of Whitchurch, was the nearest available magistrate, wrote this gentleman’s name on the note. As he wrote, he said in his calm way: ‘I shall be obliged to you if you will have this letter conveyed directly to Mr Philips.’
‘Tonight, sir?’
‘Tonight. Mr Philips will, I imagine, come back with your messenger. If he asks for me, show him into this room. Ah, and landlord!’
‘Sir?’
‘A bowl of rum punch. I will mix it myself.’
‘Yes, sir! Immediately, sir!’ said the landlord, relieved to receive such a normal command.
He lingered for a moment, trying to summon up sufficientresolution to ask the fine London gentleman why he wanted to see a magistrate thus urgently. Sir Richard’s quizzing-glass came up, and the landlord withdrew in haste. The waiter would have followed him, but was detained by Sir Richard’s uplifted forefinger.
‘One moment! Who gave you the note which you delivered to me this evening?’
‘It was Jem, sir – the tapster. It was when I went up to the bar for a pint of burgundy for a gentleman dining in the coffee-room that Jem gave it to me. It was Captain Trimble who picked it up off the ground, where it was a-laying. It got swep’ off the bar, I dessay, sir, the tap-room being crowded at the time, and Jem with his hands full.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sir Richard. ‘That is all.’
The waiter went away considerably mystified. Sir Richard, on the other hand, felt that the mystery had been satisfactorily explained, and sat down to await the landlord’s return with the ingredients for a bowl of punch.
Mr Philips’ residence was situated some five miles from Queen Charlton, and it was consequently some time before the clatter of horses’ hooves in the street heralded his arrival. Sir Richard was squeezing the lemon into the punch-bowl when he was ushered into the parlour, and looked up fleetingly to say: ‘Ah, how do you do? Mr Philips, I apprehend?’
Mr Philips was a grizzled gentleman with a harassed frown, and a slight paunch.
‘Your servant, sir! Have I the honour of addressing Sir Richard Wyndham?’
‘Mine, sir, is the honour,’ said Sir Richard absently, intent upon his punch.
‘Sir,’ said Mr Philips, ‘your very extraordinary communication – I may say, your unprecedented disclosure – has, as you perceive, brought me immediately to enquire into this incredible affair!’
‘Very proper,’ said Sir Richard. ‘You will wish to visit the scene of the crime, I imagine. I can give you the direction, but nodoubt the village constable is familiar with the locality. The body, Mr Philips, is – or was – lying in the clearing in the middle of the spinney, a little way down the road.’
