Not in the general way a keen student of Nature, he was moved today to admire the russet tints in the trees, and to approve from the well-sprung chaise the bursts of fine country through which he passed.

Meering being situated near Twyford, in the County of Berkshire, the road to it led out of town by way of Knights-bridge and Hammersmith to Turnham Green and Hounslow, where at the George Inn the chaise stopped to change horses. The two postilions, who had formed the poorest opinion of Mr Drelincourt from the moment of his commanding them not to drive too fast, were disgusted by his conduct at the George, for instead of getting down to drink a glass of Nantes brandy, and allowing them time also to refresh themselves, he sat tight in the chaise, and never gave the ostlers so much as a groat.

The second stage was Slough, ten miles farther on. The chaise set forward again, drawing out of Hounslow on to the heath, a tract of wild land so ill-famed that for several unpleasant minutes Mr Drelincourt sat wishing that he had gone to the expense of hiring a guard to accompany the chaise. Nothing untoward happened, however, and he was soon being driven over Cranford Bridge in the direction of Longford.

At Slough Mr Drelincourt got down to stretch his legs, while the horses were changed. The landlord, who had come bustling out of the Crown Inn as a good landlord should on the approach of a gentleman’s chaise, allowed the jolly smile to fade from his face at the sight of Mr Drelincourt, and abated a little of his welcoming civility. Mr Drelincourt was well known upon this road, and no favourite with honest landlords! Since he was my Lord of Rule’s relative, Mr Copper went through the form of suggesting refreshment, but upon this being refused, he went back into his inn, remarking to his wife that the one thing in life that beat him was how a genial, open-handed gentleman like his lordship came to have such a mean worm as Mr Drelincourt for his cousin.

After Slough, the road ran on by way of Salt Hill to Maidenhead. A mile further on, at Maidenhead Thicket, it branched off from the Worcester way, and took the Bath Road to Hare Hatch and Twyford.

The chaise had passed through Maidenhead, and was bowling along at a respectable pace towards the Thicket, when one of the postilions became aware of a second chaise some way behind. A bend in the road enabled him to get a glimpse of it. He said over his shoulder to the other postilion: “Lordy, that’ll be the Quality, sure enough! Springing his horses, he is. No good racing him with our precious Missy squawking at the back of us.”

The lad riding one of the wheelers understood him to refer to Mr Drelincourt, and agreed, though regretfully, that they had better draw into the side and let the Quality go by.

The thunder of hooves galloping in the rear soon penetrated to Mr Drelincourt’s ears and caused him to rap with his cane on the window, and upon the postilion’s looking over his shoulder, to signal to him to draw in to one side of the road. Mr Drelincourt had had experience of good-for-nothing lads who raced their horses against other chaises, and he disapproved strongly of this pastime.

The second chaise rapidly overhauled the first and swung past in a little cloud of dust struck up by the galloping hooves. Mr Drelincourt had the briefest view of it, but caught sight of the flash of a crest on one of the panels. He felt much annoyed with the unknown traveller for driving at such a pace, and was uneasily hoping that his postilions were able to control their own horses (which showed signs of wishing to dash off after the other chaise) when he saw that the second chaise was pulling up ahead of them. That seemed very strange to him, for there was no apparent reason to account for it. It seemed stranger still when the horses wheeled and backed, and wheeled again, till the chaise lay right across the road, effectively barring the way.

Mr Drelincourt’s postilions, also observing this manoeuvre, supposed the other chaise to have overshot its objective, and to be about to turn round again. They reined their horses to a walk. But the crested chaise remained across the road, and they were forced to come to a standstill.

Mr Drelincourt, considerably astonished, sat forward to see more closely, and called to his postilions: “What is it? Why don’t they go on? Is it an accident?”

Then he saw Lord Lethbridge spring down from the other chaise, and he shrank back in his seat, his heart jumping with fright.

Lethbridge walked up to Mr Drelincourt’s equipage, and that shivering gentleman pulled himself together with an effort. It would not do for him to cower in the corner, so he leaned forward and let down the window. “Is it you, indeed, my lord?” he said in a high voice. “I could scarce believe my eyes! What can have brought you out of town?”

“Why, you, Crosby, you!” said his lordship mockingly. “Pray step down out of that chaise. I should like to have a little talk with you.”

Mr Drelincourt clung to the window frame and gave an unnatural laugh. “Oh, your pleasantries, my lord! I am on my way to Meering, you know, to my cousin’s. I—I think it is already on five o’clock, and he dines at five.”

“Crosby, come down!” said Lethbridge, with such an alarm-;ng glitter in his eyes that Mr Drelincourt was quite cowed, and began to fumble with the catch of the door. He climbed down carefully, under the grinning stare of his postilions. “I vow I can’t imagine what you was wanting to say to me,” he said. “And I am late, you know. I ought to be on my way.”

His arm was taken in an ungentle grip. “Walk with me a little way, Crosby,” said his lordship. “Do you not find these country roads quite charming? I am sure you do. And so you are bound for Meering? Was not that a rather sudden decision, Crosby?”

“Sudden?” stammered Mr Drelincourt, wincing at the pressure of his lordship’s fingers above his elbow. “Oh, not at all, my lord, not in the least! I told Rule I might come down. I have had it in mind some days, I assure you.”

“It has nothing to do, of course, with a certain brooch?” purred Lethbridge.

“A b-brooch? I don’t understand you, my lord!”

“A ring-brooch of pearls and diamonds, picked up in my house last night,” said his lordship.

Mr Drelincourt’s knees shook. “I protest, sir, I—I am at a loss! I—”

“Crosby, give me that brooch,” said Lethbridge menacingly.

Mr Drelincourt made an attempt to pull his arm away. “My lord, I don’t understand your tone! I tell you frankly, I don’t like it. I don’t take your meaning.”

“Crosby,” said his lordship, “you will give me that brooch, or I will take you by the scruff of your neck and shake you like the rat you are!”

“Sir!” said Mr Drelincourt, his teeth chattering together, “this is monstrous! Monstrous!”

“It is indeed monstrous,” agreed his lordship. “You are a thief, Mr Crosby Drelincourt.”

Mr Drelincourt flushed scarlet. “It was not your brooch, sir!”

“Or yours!” swiftly replied Lethbridge. “Hand it over!”

“I—I have called a man out for less!” blustered Crosby.

“That’s your humour, is it?” said Lethbridge. “It’s not my practice to fight with thieves; I use a cane instead. But I might make an exception in your case.”

To Mr Drelincourt’s horror, he thrust forward his sword hilt and patted it. That unfortunate gentleman licked his lips and said quaveringly: “I shall not fight you, sir. The brooch is more mine than yours!”

“Hand it over!” said Lethbridge.

Mr Drelincourt hesitated, read a look in his lordship’s face there was no mistaking, and slowly inserted his finger and thumb into his waistcoat pocket. The next moment the brooch lay in Lethbridge’s hand.

“Thank you, Crosby,” he said, in a way that made Mr Drelincourt long for the courage to hit him. “I thought I should be able to persuade you. You may now resume your journey to Meering—if you think it still worth while. If you don’t—you may join me at the Sun in Maidenhead, where I propose to dine and sleep. I almost feel I owe you a dinner for spoiling your game so unkindly.” He turned, leaving Mr Drelincourt speechless with indignation, and walked back to his chaise, which had by this time drawn up to the side of the road, facing towards London again. He climbed lightly into it and drove off, airily waving his hand to Mr Drelincourt, still standing in the dusty road.

Mr Drelincourt gazed after him, rage seething up in him. Spoiled his game, had he? There might be two words to that! He hurried back to his own chaise, saw the looks of rich enjoyment on the postilions’ faces, and swore at them to drive on.

It was only six miles to Meering from the Thicket, but by the time the chaise turned in at the Lodge gates it was close on six o’clock. The house was situated a mile from the gates, in the middle of a very pretty park, but Mr Drelincourt was in no mood to admire the fine oaks, and rolling stretches of turf, and sat in a fret of impatience while his tired horses drew him up the long avenue to the house.

He found his cousin and Mr Gisborne lingering over their port in the dining-room, which apartment was lit by candles. It might be broad daylight outside, but my lord had a constitutional dislike of dining by day, and excluded it by having the heavy curtains drawn across the windows.

Both he and Mr Gisborne were in riding-dress. My lord was lounging in a high-backed chair at the head of the table, one leg, encased in a dusty top-boot, thrown negligently over the arm. He looked up as the footman opened the door to admit Mr Drelincourt, and for a moment sat perfectly still, the look of good humour fading from his face. Then he picked up his quizzing-glass with some deliberation, and surveyed his cousin through it. “Dear me!” he said. “Now why?”