The Talisman Ring

“Ludovic,” said Miss Thane in a meditative voice, “thinks it would be a good thing to capture the Runners and bestow them in the cellar.”

“A famous plan!” said Sir Tristram sardonically.

“Yes, but me, I do not agree,” said Eustacie, frowning.

“You surprise me.”

“Just a moment! “ interposed Thane, who all this time had been sitting at a small table by the fire, easting his dice, right hand against left. “You can’t imprison law officers in the cellar. For one thing, it’s a criminal offence, and for another there’s a deal of precious liquor in the cellar. I don’t like that red-nosed fellow; I think he ought to be got rid of. What’s more, I’ve had a score against Sampson Wright for a long time, and I don’t mind putting a spoke in his wheel. But I won’t have his Runners kidnapped.”

“Well!” said his sister. “I think you are most unreasonable, Hugh, I must say. After all, it was you who threw a boot at the Runner.”

“That’s a very different thing,” replied Thane. “There’s nothing to be said against throwing a boot at a fellow who comes nosing into one’s room. But kidnapping’s another matter.”

“Oh well!” said Ludovic airily. “Ten to one we shan’t see any more of them. I dare say they will go back to London on tomorrow’s coach.”

Had Mr Stubbs followed his own inclination, he would not have waited for the morrow’s coach but would have boarded the night mail, deeming a night on the road preferable to one spent at the alehouse. But his companion, a grave person with a painstaking sense of duty and an earnest desire to prove himself worthy of his office, held to the opinion that their search had not been sufficiently thorough.

“What we’ve done is, we’ve Lulled them,” he said, slowly nodding his head. “Properly Lulled them, that’s what we’ve done. We didn’t find no trace of any desperate criminal, and they know we didn’t find no trace. So what happens?”

“Well, what does happen?” said Mr Stubbs, lowering his tankard.

“They’re Lulled, that’s what happens.”

“You said that before,” remarked Mr Stubbs, with slight asperity.

“Ah, but what do we do now we’ve got them Lulled?” demanded his companion. “We makes a Pounce, and takes this Ludovic Lavenham unawares.”

Mr Stubbs turned it over in his mind. “I won’t say you’re wrong, William,” he pronounced cautiously. “Nor I’ve no objection, provided we do take him unawares. It’s a queer thing, but I can’t get out of my mind what that French hussy told me about this Loodervic being so handy with his pops. It makes things awkward. I won’t say no more than that. Awkward.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” said the zealous Mr Peabody, “and the conclusion I’ve come to, Jerry, is that she made it up out of her head just for to scare you.”

For a moment Mr Stubbs pondered this. Then he said somewhat severely: “She should ha’ known better.” He took a pull at his ale, and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, added: “Mind you, I’ve had my doubts about it all along. Sixteen candles is what she said. Now, I put it to you, William, is that a likely story?”

Mr Peabody gave it as his opinion that it was a most unlikely story. They discussed the question for a little while, Mr Stubbs contending that had Eustacie spoken of six candles, he might have believed her, and Mr Peabody, a more practical man, distrusting the entire story on the grounds that there was no sense in firing at candles at all.

They had, by these divergent paths, arrived at the same comfortable conclusion when their privacy was disturbed by the arrival of a visitor, who turned to be none other than Gregg, Beau Lavenham’s discreet valet. He came into the taproom with a prim little bow and a tight-lipped smile, and ordered a brandy with hot water and lemon. Until this had been procured for him, he stayed by the bar, only glancing once out of the corners of his eyes at the two Runners snugly ensconced in the ingle-nook by the fire. When his glass had been handed to him, however, he walked over to the fireplace, drew up a chair close to the high-backed settle, and bade the Runners good evening.

They returned this civil greeting without showing any marked degree of cordiality. They were aware that he was the man to whom they were indebted for what information they had, but although they would be grateful for any further information that he might be able to give them, they had a prejudice against informers as a race, and saw no reason to make an exception in this one’s favour. Accordingly, when Gregg leaned forward in his chair, and said in a keen but subdued voice: “Well?” it was in chilly accents that Mr Stubbs replied: “It ain’t well. We’ve been fetched down for nothing, that’s what.”

“So you didn’t find him!” said Gregg, frowning.

“Nor him, nor any sign of him. Which I will say didn’t surprise me.”

“But he was there, for all that,” said Gregg, tapping his front teeth with one finger-nail. “I am sure he was there. You looked everywhere?”