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‘I have ingenuity too,’ said Miss Creed, affronted.

  ‘Not a scrap,’ responded Sir Richard calmly.

  She swallowed this, saying in a small voice: ‘Very well, if I haven’t, I haven’t, but I wish you will explain.’

  ‘I feel sure you do,’ said Sir Richard. ‘But the truth is that I cannot. Not only does it appear to me to be a matter of uncommon delicacy, but it is also for the moment – a little obscure.’

  She sighed. ‘It does not seem fair, because it was I who found the necklace, after all! Who is the stammering-man? You may just as well tell me that, because Piers will, you know.’

  ‘Certainly. The stammering-man is the Honourable Beverley Brandon.’

  ‘Oh! I don’t know him,’ said Pen, rather disappointed.

  ‘You are to be congratulated.’

  ‘Is he an enemy of yours?’

  ‘An enemy! No!’

  ‘Well, you seem to dislike him very cordially.’

  ‘That does not make him my enemy. To be exact, he is the younger brother of the lady to whom I was to have been betrothed.’

  Pen looked aghast. ‘Good God, sir, can he have come in search of you?’

  ‘No, nothing of that kind. Indeed, Pen, I can’t tell you more, for the rest is conjecture.’ He met her disappointed look, and smiled down at her, gently pinching her chin. ‘Poor Pen! Forgive me!’

  A little colour stole up to the roots of her hair. ‘I do not mean to tease you. I expect you will tell me all about it when – when it isn’t conjecture.’

  ‘I expect I shall,’ he agreed. ‘But that will not be tonight, so be off with you to bed, child!’

  She went, but was back again a few minutes later, round-eyed and breathless. ‘Richard! He has found us! I have seen him! I am certain it was he!’

  ‘Who?’ he asked.

  ‘Jimmy Yarde, of course! It was so hot in my room that I drew back the curtains to open the window, and the moon was so bright that I stood looking out for a minute. And there he was, directly below me! I could not mistake. And the worst is that I fear he saw me, for he drew back at once into the shadow of the house!’

  ‘Did he indeed?’ There was a gleam in Sir Richard’s eye. ‘Well, he is here sooner than I expected. A resourceful gentleman, Mr Jimmy Yarde!’

  ‘But what are we going to do? I am not in the least, afraid, but I should like to be told what you wish me to do!’

  ‘That is very easily done. I wish you to exchange bed-chambers with me. Show yourself again at the window of your own room, if you like, but on no account pull back the blinds in mine. I have a very earnest desire to meet Mr Jimmy Yarde.’

  Her dimples peeped. ‘I see! like the fairy-story! “Oh, Grandma, what big teeth you have!” What an adventure we are having! But you will take care, won’t you, sir?’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘And you will tell me all about it afterwards?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘If you don’t,’ said Pen, with deep feeling, ‘it will be the most unjust thing imaginable!’

  He laughed, and, seeing that there was no more to be got out of him, she went away again.

  An hour later, the candlelight vanished from the upper room with the open casements and the undrawn blinds, but it was two hours before Mr Yarde’s head appeared above the window-sill, and not a light shone in the village.

  The moon, sailing across a sky of deepest sapphire, cast a bar of silver across the floor of the chamber, but left the four-poster bed in shadow. The ascent, by way of the porch-roof, a stout drain-pipe, and a gnarled branch of wistaria, had been easy, but Mr Yarde paused before swinging a leg over the sill. His eye, trying to penetrate the darkness, encountered a drab driving-coat, hanging over the back of a chair placed full in the shaft of moonlight. He knew that coat, and a tiny sigh escaped him. He hoisted himself up, and noiselessly slid into the room. He had left his shoes below, and his stockinged-feet made no sound on the floor, as he crept across it.

  But there was no heavy leather sack-purse in the pocket of the driving-coat.

  He was disappointed, but he had been prepared for disappointment. He stole out of the moonlight to the bedside, listening to the sound of quiet breathing. No tremor disturbed its regularity, and after listening to it for a few minutes, he bent, and began cautiously to slide his hand under the dimly-seen pillow. The other, his right, grasped a muffler, which could be readily clapped over a mouth opened to utter a startled cry.

  The cry, hardly more than a croak, strangled at birth, was surprised out of himself, however, for, just as his sensitive fingers felt the object for which they were seeking, two iron hands seized him by the throat, and choked him.

  He tore quite unavailingly at the hold, realizing through the drumming in his ears, the bursting of his veins, and the pain in his temples, that he had made a mistake, that the hands crushing the breath out of him certainly did not belong to any stripling.

  Just as he seemed to himself to be losing possession of his senses, the grip slackened, and a voice he was learning to hate, said softly: ‘Your error, Mr Yarde!’

  He felt himself shaken and suddenly released, and, being quite powerless to help himself, fell to the floor and stayed there, making odd crowing noises as he got his wind back. By the time he had recovered sufficiently to struggle on to one elbow, Sir Richard had cast off the coverlet, and sprung out of bed. He was dressed in his shirt and breeches, as Mr Yarde’s suffused eyes saw, as soon as Sir Richard had relit the candle by his bed.

  Sir Richard laid aside the tinder-box, and glanced down at Mr Yarde. Jimmy’s vision was clearing; he was able to see that Sir Richard’s lips had curled into a somewhat contemptuous smile. He began gingerly to massage his throat, which felt badly bruised, and waited for Sir Richard to speak.

  ‘I warned you that I was a shockingly light sleeper,’ Sir Richard said.

  Jimmy cast him a malevolent look, but made no answer.

  ‘Get up!’ Sir Richard said. ‘You may sit on that chair, Mr Yarde, for we are going to enjoy a heart-to-heart talk.’

  Jimmy picked himself up. A glance in the direction of the window was enough to convince him that he would be intercepted before he could reach it. He sat down and drew the back of his hand across his brow.

  ‘Don’t let us misunderstand one another!’ Sir Richard said. ‘You came to find a certain diamond necklace, which you hid in my nephew’s coat this morning. There are just three things I can do with you. I can deliver you up to the Law.’

  ‘You can’t prove I come to fork the necklace, guv’nor,’ Jimmy muttered.

  ‘You think not? We may yet see. Failing the Bow Street Runner – but I feel he would be happy to take you into custody – I fancy a gentleman of the name of Trimble – ah, Horace Trimble, if my memory serves! – would be even happier to relieve me of you.’

  The mention of this name brought an expression of great uneasiness into Jimmy’s sharp countenance. ‘I don’t know him! Never heard of any such cove!’

  ‘Oh yes, I think you have!’ said Sir Richard.

  ‘I ain’t done you any harm, guv’nor, nor intended any! I’ll cap downright –’

  ‘You needn’t: I believe you.’

  Jimmy’s spirits began to lift. ‘Dang me if I didn’t say you was a leery cove! You wouldn’t be hard on a cull!’

  ‘That depends on the – er – cull. Which brings me, Mr Yarde, to the third course I might – I say, might, Mr Yarde – pursue. I can let you go.’

  Jimmy gasped, swallowed, and muttered hoarsely: ‘Spoke like the gentry-cove you are, guv’nor!’

  ‘Tell me what I want to know, and I will let you go,’ said Sir Richard.

  A wary look came into Jimmy’s eyes. ‘Split, eh? Lord bless you, there ain’t anything to tell you!’

  ‘It will perhaps make it e