The Talisman Ring

“But this is February! The breeze isn’t balmy at all—in fact, there’s been a demmed north wind blowing all day,” pointed out Sir Hugh.

“To persons deep in love,” said Sir Tristram soulfully, “any breeze is balmy.”

“Hateful wretch!” said Miss Thane, with deep feeling. “Pay no heed to him, Hugh! Of course, I did not go to meet him!”

Sir Tristram appeared to be overcome. “You play fast and loose with me,” he said reproachfully. “You have dashed my hopes to the ground, shattered my self-esteem—”

“If you say another word, I’ll box your ears!” threatened Miss Thane.

Sir Hugh shook his head at her in mild disapproval. “I see what it is: you’ve been flirting again,” he said.

“Don’t be so vulgar!” implored Miss Thane. “There’s not a word of truth in it! I went out merely to trick the Runners. Sir Tristram’s arrival was quite by chance.”

“But you told me—”

“The truth is that you have stumbled upon a secret romance, Thane,” said Sir Tristram, with a great air of candour.

Thane looked from Sir Tristram’s imperturbable countenance to his sister’s indignant one, and gave it up. “I suppose it’s all a hum,” he remarked. “Are you coming into the parlour? There’s a devilish draught here.”

“Presently,” replied Sir Tristram, detaining Miss Thane by the simple expedient of stretching out his hand and grasping her wrist.

She submitted to this, and when her brother had gone back to the parlour, said: “I suppose I deserved that.”

“Certainly you did,” agreed Sir Tristram, releasing her. “You would have been well served had I really thrown cold water over you. Are you at all hurt?”

“Oh no, merely a bruise or two! Your intervention was most timely.”

“And if I had not happened to have been there?”

“I should have allowed them to drag me back here, of course, and fainted in Hugh’s arms instead of yours.”

He smiled a little, but only said: “You shouldn’t have done it.”

“Oh, perhaps it was not, as Eustacie would say, quite convenable,” she replied, “but you will admit that it has rid us of a grave danger.”

“You might have been badly hurt,” he answered.

“Well, I was not badly hurt, so we shall not consider that.”

At this moment Ludovic strolled into the room, and slid his sound arm round Miss Thane’s waist, and kissed her cheek. “Sally, I swear you’re an angel!” he declared.

“Anything less angelic than her conduct during the past half-hour I have yet to see,” observed Sir Tristram. “An accomplished liar would be nearer the mark.”

“Quant a зa, you also told lies,” said Eustacie. “You pretended to be in love with her: you know you did!”

“Did he?” said Ludovic. “Perhaps he is in love with her. I vow I am!”

“Cream-pot love, my child,” interposed Miss Thane composedly. “You are pleased with me for having rid you of those Runners. And now that they have gone, when shall we break into the Dower House?”

“Rid your mind of the notion that you are to make one of that party,” said Shield. “Neither you nor Eustacie will come with us—if we go at all.”

“Hey, what’s this?” demanded Ludovic. “Of course we shall go!”

Miss Thane looked at Shield with a humorous gleam in her eyes. “Now pray do not tell me that after all the trouble I have been put to to remove the bars of our adventure we are not to have any adventure!”

“I think you are likely to have all the adventure you could desire without going to the Dower House to look for it,” replied Shield. “I fancy the Beau’s suspicions will not be as easily allayed as the Runners’ were.”

“Well, if Basil comes spying after me himself, we shall see some sport,” said Ludovic cheerfully. “I wish you will discover when he means to go to town, Tristram.”

This was not a difficult task to accomplish, for the Beau, paying a friendly call upon his cousin that evening after dinner, volunteered the information quite unprompted. He wandered into the library at the Court, a vision of pearl-grey and salmon-pink, and smiled sweetly at Shield, lounging on the sofa by the fire.

Shield greeted him unemotionally, and nodded towards a chair. “Sit down, Basil: I’m glad to see you.”

The Beau raised his brows rather quizzically. “My dear Tristram, how unexpected!”

“Yes,” said Shield, “I’ve no doubt it is. I feel you should be told of an excessively odd circumstance. Are you aware that there have been a couple of Bow Street Runners in the neighbourhood, searching for Ludovic?”

For a moment the Beau made no reply. The smile still lingered on his lips, but an arrested expression stole into his eyes, as though he found such direct methods of warfare disconcerting. He drew up a chair to the fire and sat down in it, and said: “For Ludovic? Surely you must be mistaken? Ludovic is not in Sussex, is he?”

“Not that I am aware of,” replied Sir Tristram coolly, “but from what I could make out from the Runners someone has started a rumour that Eustacie’s smuggler was he.”

The Beau opened his snuffbox. “Absurd!” he murmured. “If Ludovic were in Sussex, he must have sent me word.”

“That is what I thought,” agreed Shield. “You are quite sure he has not sent you word?”