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  ‘Good gracious, sir, such an odd creature has arrived! I wish you could have seen him!’ Pen exclaimed. ‘Only fancy! He has a blue-and-yellow striped waistcoat, and a spotted tie!’

  ‘I wear them myself sometimes,’ murmured Sir Richard apologetically.

  She turned, determined to keep the conversation to such unexceptionable subjects. ‘You, sir? I cannot believe such a thing to be possible!’

  ‘It sounds remarkably like the insignia of the Four-Horse Club,’ he said. ‘But what in the name of all that’s wonderful should one of our members be doing in Queen Charlton?’

  A confused sound of conversation reached them from the entrance-parlour. Above it the landlord’s voice, which was rather high-pitched, said clearly: ‘My best parlour is bespoke by Sir Richard Wyndham, sir, but if your honour would condescend –’

  ‘What? ’

  There was no difficulty at all in hearing the monosyllable, for it was positively shouted.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ said Sir Richard, and turned to run a quick eye over Miss Creed. ‘Careful now, brat! I fancy I know this traveller. What in the world have you done to that cravat? Come here!’

  He had barely time to straighten Miss Creed’s crumpled tie when the same penetrating voice uttered: ‘Where? In there? Don’t be a fool, man! I know him well!’ and hasty footsteps were heard crossing the entrance-parlour.

  The door was flung open; the gentleman in the fifteen-caped driving-coat strode in, and, upon setting eyes on Sir Richard, cast his hat and gloves from him, and started forward, exclaiming: ‘Ricky! Ricky, you dog, what are you doing here?’

  Pen, effacing herself by the window, watched the tall young man wring Sir Richard’s hand, and wondered where she could have seen him before. He seemed vaguely familiar to her, and the very timbre of his reckless voice touched a cord of memory.

  ‘Well, upon my soul!’ he said. ‘If this don’t beat all! I don’t know what the deuce you’re doing here, but you’re the very man I want to see. Ricky, does that offer of yours hold good? Damme, if it does, I’m off to the Peninsula by the first boat! There’s the devil and all to pay in the family this time!’

  ‘I know it,’ Sir Richard said. ‘I take it you have heard the news about Beverley?’

  ‘My God, don’t tell me you’ve heard it?’

  ‘I found him,’ Sir Richard said.

  The Honourable Cedric clapped a hand to his head. ‘Found him? What, you weren’t looking for him, Ricky, were you? How many more people know about it? Where’s that damned necklace?’

  ‘Unless the law-officers have now got it, I fancy it is in one Captain Trimble’s pocket. It was once in my possession, but I handed it over to Beverley, to – er – restore to your father. When he was murdered –’

  Cedric recoiled, his jaw dropping. ‘What’s that? Murdered? Ricky, not Bev?’

  ‘Ah!’ said Sir Richard, ‘so you didn’t know?’

  ‘Good God!’ Cedric said. His roving eye alighted on the decanter and the glasses which the waiter had left upon the table. He poured himself out a glass, and tossed it off. ‘That’s better. So Bev’s been murdered, has he? Well, I came here with a little notion of murdering him myself. Who did it?’

  ‘Trimble, I imagine,’ Sir Richard replied.

  Cedric paused in the act of refilling his glass, and looked up quickly. ‘For the sake of the necklace?’

  ‘Presumably.’

  To Pen’s astonishment, Cedric broke into a shout of laughter. ‘Oh, by God, but that’s rich!’ he gasped. ‘Oh, blister me, Ricky, that’s hell’s own jest!’

  Sir Richard put up his eyeglass, surveying his young friend through it with faint surprise. ‘I did not, of course, expect the news to prostrate you with grief, but I confess I was hardly prepared –’

  ‘Paste, dear old boy! nothing but paste!’ said Cedric, doubled up over a chair-back.

  The eyeglass dropped. ‘Dear me!’ said Sir Richard. ‘Yes, I ought to have thought of that. Saar?’

  ‘Years ago!’ Cedric said, wiping his streaming eyes with the Belcher handkerchief. ‘Only came out when I – I, mark you, Ricky! – set the Bow Street Runners on to it! I thought m’father was devilish lukewarm over the affair. Never guessed, however! There was m’mother sending messenger upon messenger up to Brook Street, and the girls nagging at me, so off I went to Bow Street. Fact is, my head’s never at its best in the morning. No sooner had I set the bloodhounds on to the damned necklace than I began to think the thing over. I told you Bev was a bad man, Ricky. I’ll lay you a monkey he stole the necklace.’

  Sir Richard nodded. ‘Quite true.’

  ‘Damme, I call that going too far! M’mother had a secret hiding-place made for it in her chaise. M’father knew. I knew. Bev knew. Dare say the girls knew. But no one else, d’ye mark me? Thought it all out at White’s. Nothing like brandy for clearing the head! Then I remembered that Bev took himself off to Bath last week. Never could imagine why! Thought I’d better look into things m’self. Just made up my mind to take a little journey to Bath, when in walked m’father in a deuce of a pucker. He’d heard from Melissa that I’d been to Bow Street. Pounced on me, looking as queer as Dick’s hatband, and wanting to know what the devil I meant by setting the Runners on to it. Now, Ricky, dear boy, would you say I was a green ’un? Give you my word I never guessed what was coming! Always thought m’father meant to stick to the diamonds! He sold ’em three years ago when he had that run of bad luck! Had ’em copied, so that no one was the wiser, not even my mother! He was as mad as Bedlam with me, and damme, I don’t blame him, for if my Runner ran the necklace to earth there’d be the devil to pay, and no pitch hot! So that’s why I’m here. But what beats me is, what in thunder brought you here?’

  ‘You told me to run,’ murmured Sir Richard.

  ‘So I did, but to tell you the truth I never thought you would, dear boy. But why here? Out with it, Ricky! You never came here in search of Bev!’

  ‘No, I didn’t. I came upon purely – er – family affairs. I fancy you have never met my young cousin, Pen Brown?’

  ‘Never knew you had a cousin of that name. Who is he?’ said Cedric cheerfully.

  Sir Richard made a slight movement, indicating Pen’s presence. The room was deeply shadowed, for the waiter had not yet brought in the candles, and the twilight was fading. Cedric turned his head, and stared with narrowed eyes towards the window-seat, where Pen had been sitting, half hidden by the curtains. ‘Damme, I never saw you!’ he exclaimed. ‘How d’ye do?’

  ‘Mr Brandon, Pen,’ Sir Richard explained.

  She came forward to shake hands, just as the waiter entered with a couple of chandeliers. He set them down upon the table, and moved across the room to draw the curtains. The sudden glow of candlelight for a moment dazzled Cedric, but as he released Pen’s hand his vision cleared, and became riveted on her guinea-gold curls. A portentous frown gathered on his brow, as he struggled with an erratic memory. ‘Hey, wait a minute!’ he said. ‘I haven’t seen you before, have I?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ replied Pen in a small voice.

  ‘That’s what I thought. But there’s something about you – did you say he was a cousin of yours, Ricky?’

  ‘A distant cousin,’ amended Sir Richard.

  ‘Name of Brown?’

  Sir Richard sighed. ‘Is it so marvellous?’

  ‘Damme, dear boy, I’ve known you from m’cradle, but I never heard of any relative of yours called Brown! What’s the game?’

  ‘If I had guessed that you were so interested in the ramifications of my family, Cedric, I would have informed you of Pen’s existence.’

  The waiter, interested, but unable to prolong his labours in the parlour, slowly and sadly withdrew.

  ‘Something devilish queer about this!’ pronounced Cedric, with a shake of his head