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  ‘My dear Richard,’ Pen had written. ‘This is to say goodbye to you, and to thank you very much for all your kindness. I have made up my mind to return to Aunt Almeria, for the notion of our being obliged to marry is preposterous. I shall tell her some tale that will satisfy her. Dear sir, it was truly a splendid adventure. Your very obliged servant, Penelope Creed.

  P.S. I will send back your cravats and the cloak-bag, and indeed I thank you, dear Richard.’

  Cedric, watching his friend’s rigid face, dragged himself out of his chair, and lounged across to lay a hand on Sir Richard’s shoulder. ‘Ricky, dear boy! Now, what is it?’

  ‘I demand to see that letter!’ barked the Major.

  Sir Richard folded the sheet, and slipped it into his inner pocket. ‘Be content, sir: my cousin has not eloped with your daughter.’

  ‘I don’t believe you!’

  ‘If you mean to give me the lie –’ Sir Richard checked himself, and turned to the abigail. ‘When did Mr Brown leave this place?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. But Parks was downstairs – the waiter, sir.’

  ‘Fetch him.’

  ‘If your cousin has not gone off with my daughter, show me that letter!’ demanded the Major.

  The Honourable Cedric let his hand fall from Sir Richard’s shoulder, and strolled into the middle of the room, an expression of disdain upon his aristocratic countenance. ‘You, sir – Daubenay, or whatever your name may be – I don’t know what maggot’s got into your head, but damme, I’m tired of it! For the lord’s sake, go away!’

  ‘I shall not stir from this room until I know the truth!’ declared the Major. ‘I should not be surprised if I found that you were both in league with that young whippersnapper!’

  ‘Damme, there’s something devilish queer about the air of this place!’ said Cedric. ‘It’s my belief you’re all mad!’

  At this moment the gloomy waiter came into the room. His disclosure that Pen had gone to Bristol with Mrs Hopkins made Sir Richard’s face assume a more mask-like expression than ever, but they could not fail to assuage one at least of the Major’s alarms. He mopped his brow, and said gruffly that he saw that he had made a mistake.

  ‘That’s what we’ve been telling you,’ Cedric pointed out. ‘I’ll tell you another thing, sir: I want my breakfast, and I’ll be damned if I’ll sit down to it with you dancing about the room, and shouting in my ear. It ain’t restful!’

  ‘But I don’t understand!’ complained the Major in a milder tone. ‘She said she went out to meet your cousin, sir!’

  ‘I have already told you, sir, that your daughter and my cousin both talked a deal of nonsense,’ said Sir Richard, over his shoulder.

  ‘You mean she said it to make me believe – to throw dust in my eyes? Upon my soul!’

  ‘Now, don’t start that again!’ begged Cedric.

  ‘She has gone off with young Luttrell!’ exploded the Major. ‘By God, I’ll break every bone in his body!’

  ‘Well, we don’t mind that,’ said Cedric. ‘You go and do it, sir! Don’t waste a moment! Waiter, the door!’

  ‘Good God, this is terrible!’ exclaimed the Major, sinking into a chair, and clapping a hand to his brow. ‘Depend upon it, they are half-way to the Scottish border by now! As though that were not enough! But there is Philips wanting me to take that wretched girl to Bath this morning, to see whether she can recognize some fellow they have caught there! What am I to say to him? The scandal! My poor wife! I left her prostrate!’

  ‘Run back to her at once!’ urged Cedric. ‘You have not a moment to spare! Tell me, though, had this fellow the diamonds upon him?’

  The Major made a gesture as of one brushing aside a gnat. ‘What should I care for that? It is my misguided child I am thinking about!’

  ‘I dare say you don’t care, but I do. The man who was murdered was my brother, and those diamonds belong to my family!’

  ‘Your brother? Good Gad, sir, I am astonished!’ said the Major, glaring at him. ‘No one – no one, believe me! – would credit you with having sustained such a loss! Your levity, your –’

  ‘Never mind my levity, old gentleman! Has that damned necklace been found?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I understand that the prisoner had a necklace in his possession. And if that is your only concern in this appalling affair –’

  ‘Ricky, I must get my hands on that necklace. I hate to leave you, dear boy, but there’s nothing for it! Where the devil’s that coffee? Can’t go without my breakfast!’ He caught sight of the waiter, who had reappeared in the doorway. ‘You there! What the devil do you mean by standing gaping? Breakfast, you gaby!’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the waiter, sniffing. ‘And what will I tell the lady, sir, if you please?’

  ‘Tell her we ain’t receiving! – What lady?’

  The waiter proffered a tray with a visiting card upon it. ‘For Sir Richard Wyndham,’ he said lugubriously. ‘She would be obleeged by the favour of a word with him.’

  Cedric picked up the card, and read aloud: ‘Lady Luttrell. Who the deuce is Lady Luttrell, Ricky?’

  ‘Lady Luttrell!’ said the Major, starting up. ‘Here? Ha, is this some dastardly plot?’

  Sir Richard turned, a look of surprise in his face. ‘Show the lady in!’ he said.

  ‘Well, I always knew country life would never do for me,’ remarked Cedric, ‘but damme, I never realized one half of it till now! Not nine o’clock, and the better part of the county paying morning calls! Horrible, Ricky, horrible!’

  Sir Richard had turned away from the window, and was watching the door, his brows slightly raised. The waiter ushered in a good-looking woman of between forty and fifty years of age, with brown hair flecked with grey, shrewd, humorous eyes, and a somewhat masterful mouth and chin. Sir Richard moved to meet her, but before he could say anything the Major had burst into speech.

  ‘So, ma’am! So!’ he shot out. ‘You wish to see Sir Richard Wyndham, do you? You did not expect to meet me here, I dare say!’

  ‘No,’ agreed the lady composedly. ‘I did not. However, since we shall be obliged, I understand, to meet one another in future with an appearance at least of complaisance, we may as well make a start. How do you do, Major?’

  ‘Upon my word, you are mighty cool, ma’am! Pray, are you aware that your son has eloped with my daughter?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Lady Luttrell. ‘My son left a letter behind to inform me of this circumstance.’

  Her calm seemed to throw the Major out of his stride. He said rather lamely: ‘But what are we to do?’

  She smiled. ‘We have nothing to do but to accept the event with as good a grace as we can. You do not like the match, and nor do I, but to pursue the young couple, or to show the world our disapproval, will only serve to make us both ridiculous.’ She looked him over with a rather mocking light in her eyes, but he seemed so much taken aback, that she relented, and held out her hand to him. ‘Come, Major! We may as well bury the hatchet. I cannot be estranged from my only son; you, I am persuaded, would be equally loth to disown your daughter.’

  He shook hands with her, not very graciously. ‘I do not know what to say! I am utterly confounded! They have behaved very ill towards us, very ill indeed!’

  ‘Oh yes!’ she sighed. ‘But did we perhaps behave ill towards them?’

  This was plainly going too far for the Major, whose eyes began to bulge again. Cedric intervened hastily: ‘Don’t set him off again, ma’am, for lord’s sake!’

  ‘Hold your tongue, sir!’ snapped the Major. ‘But you came here to see Sir Richard Wyndham, ma’am! How is this?’

  ‘I came to see Sir Richard Wyndham upon quite another matter,’ she replied. Her glance dwelled for an instant on Cedric, and travelled past him to Sir Richard. ‘And you, I think, must be Sir Richard Wyndham,’ she s