Mr. Coate eyed him a little suspiciously, but his hard scrutiny was met with such a bland look of incomprehension that it was impossible to suspect Sopworthy of malice. He gave one of his rough laughs, and said: “Damme if I was ever in such a backward place! What you can do for me, fellow, is to direct me to the nearest constable! By God, a pretty state of affairs when a gentleman can’t step out to blow a cloud, and to stretch his legs, without being attacked by armed ruffians! Ay, you may stare!” He wheeled about, stabbing a finger at John. “You, there, rustic! You’re the gatekeeper, ain’t you? Who passed the pike last night?”

John shook his head. “Didn’t see no armed ruffians,” he said.

“Where was you attacked, sir?” asked Sopworthy, staring.

“Why, at the very gate of the Manor! I’m a handy man with my fives, but if my man hadn’t come along when he did I might have lost more than my watch and my fobs—ay, and sustained worse injury than a blow on the head which had almost knocked the wits out of me! One of the rascals set upon me from behind: it would have gone hard with him had he faced me, I can tell you!” He continued in this strain for several minutes, while the Captain, his countenance still schooled to an expression of open-mouthed vacuity, studied him carefully.

To anyone who knew the world it was not difficult to recognize the order from which he sprang. Men very like him were to be met with in any large city, obtaining footholds on the fringes of Society, and earning a tolerable livelihood by decoying gullible young gentlemen of fortune to gaming hells, or introducing them to horse-dealers who might be depended upon to sell them, at fabulous prices, showy looking animals which, instead of being the sweet-goers or beautiful steppers which these Captain Sharps swore them to be, turned out to be confirmed limpers or incurable millers.

Such persons were nearly always knowledgeable in all matters of sport, bruising riders and expert dragsmen, and able to give good accounts of themselves in the boxing-ring, for these were accomplishments certain to make a good impression on their prospective victims. They knew as well how to toad-eat as to bully; and since they were almost invariably furnished with reliable racing-tips to impart to patrons, and could be relied upon to discover a really prime hunter, for a valued patron, and to acquire the animal for a ridiculously low price, it was seldom that they failed to attach themselves to several members of the ton who tolerated them for the sake of these useful attributes.

To this confraternity, John judged, Mr. Coate unquestionably belonged; but there hung about him an indefinable suggestion of force not usually found in the hangers-on of Society. That he was ruthless, John already knew; that he had a brazen courage, he now acknowledged. His policy was declared: the knowledge that a law-officer was on his trail would not frighten him into abandoning his schemes. Since his attempt to dispose of Stogumber had failed, he had adopted a line of conduct which, while it was unlikely to deceive Stogumber, would be hard to counter.

It soon appeared, from the information he was pouring out with such seeming carelessness, that he had whisked Gunn out of the way. He described the man as having sustained injuries which made it impossible for him to fulfill his duties; said with a crack of scornful laughter that he was blue-devilled with fright; and added that he had packed him off to Sheffield, with instructions to return to London by the stage-coach. “For I’d as lief have no servant as a bleater that thinks every bush a bogle, as the saying is!”

The Captain, having learnt enough, did not linger in the Blue Boar, but paid his shot, and slouched off, leaving the landlord to explain to Coate that if he desired to enlist the services of a constable he must ride to Tideswell—a piece of intelligence which provoked him to break into a fury of objurgation, and a declaration that he would be damned if he would put himself to so much trouble only to seek out some gapeseed who, he dared swear, would be of no more use than a month-old baby.

From the circumstance of his having got rid of Gunn, the Captain, so much more acute than he had given Coate reason to suppose, strongly suspected that it must have been Gunn who had recognized in Stogumber a Bow Street Runner. It seemed probable, therefore, that it was Gunn, and not his master, who was known to the officers of the law. Bold Coate might be, but he was not a fool, and for a man previously convicted of crime to remain openly at Kellands, once his presence there had been discovered by the Runner, would have been an act almost lunatic in its foolhardiness.

The Captain reached the toll-house again to find that Joseph Lydd had ridden from the Manor with a scribbled note from Nell. As he broke the wafer that sealed it, he said: “Lead the cob into the garden, out of sight: Coate is in the village, and will be returning, I fancy, at any minute.”

Joseph unhitched the cob’s bridle from the gate post, but said: “Is that where he is? I thought he was off to Tideswell to fetch the constable!”

“Not he!”

“Well, it wouldn’t do him no good if he did go there,” observed Joseph. “He says he was set on last night by a pair o’ foot-pads. I never heard the like, not on this road, but he swears his watch was snatched from him, and as for Gunn, which Coate says fought off these foot-pads, lord! he looks like a strained hair in a can! I don’t know whether it was foot-pads which gave it to him, but he’s had a proper melting, that’s sure! One of his knees is swole up like a bolster, and he can’t hardly walk on it, and he’s took a crack on the noddle that’s made him as dizzy as a goose. Mr. Henry’s man was told off to drive him to Sheffield this morning, so that’s a good riddance. I’d as lief it had been Coate—though there’s small choice in rotten apples!”

He then led the cob round the toll-house to the gate into the garden, and the Captain was left to read his letter. It was not long, and it gave him the impression that it had been written in a brave attempt to convince him that nothing had happened at Kellands to cause him to feel uneasiness. Nell was anxious, she assured him, only about her grandfather. Something which Henry had said to him had affected him profoundly; Winkfield had found him striving to heave himself to his feet; he had collapsed; and the doctor, summoned instantly, said that he had suffered a second stroke, not as severe as the first, but from which it was doubtful that he would recover. He was confined now to his bed, but he seemed to be unable to rest. Nell’s dear John would understand that she must not go out of reach: no one could tell when she might be summoned to her grandfather’s room for the last time.

Thrusting the single sheet of paper into the pocket of his leathers, John strode through the toll-house to the garden, where he found Ben being given a lesson in horse-manage. He dismissed him curtly, telling him to go back to the gate. Ben, who thought that he had been on duty for long enough, cast him a darkling look, and went off with a lagging step, and an audible sniff.

“He’ll make a likely lad in the stables,” remarked Joseph. “Given he gets the chance, that is. I’ve told Brean so afore now.”

“Yes, perhaps. Joseph, what is happening up at the Manor? Never mind what your mistress told you to say to me! I want the truth!”

“Squire’s mortal bad,” Joseph replied. “What’s more, he ain’t dying easy. He’s worriting and worriting, and whether it’s on account of Mr. Henry, or something as he’s expecting his lawyer to send him from London, Mr. Winkfield don’t know. Maybe it’s his Will. He would have me ride to Sheffield to meet the mail yesterday afternoon, though me and Mr. Winkfield knew there wouldn’t be nothing on it, ’cos there wasn’t time enough, seeing when it was I carried his letter to the mail. He don’t seem to be able to reckon the days no more, though he ain’t dicked in the nob—far from it! I’m to go again this afternoon, and I hopes to God there’ll be an express packet for him!”

“Miss Nell has told me that the Squire is dying. What she has not told me is what those two hell-born rogues are doing!”

“Now, there’s no call for you to fly into your high ropes, gov’nor! Barring Mr. Henry’s took to his bed, as blue as megrim, they ain’t doing nothing. Nor they won’t, not while Squire’s above ground, and all of us still at the Manor. It’s when Squire’s dead and buried that the mischief will begin, by what Mr. Huby managed to hear Coate saying to Mr. Henry last night. He’s a cunning old Trojan, Mr. Huby is! He saw Coate go up to Mr. Henry’s room, and he hopped up after him, as spry as a two-year old, and slipped into the room alongside Mr. Henry’s. There’s a powder-closet between the two of ’em, and into it he creeps, all amongst Mr. Henry’s fine coats, which is hung up in it, and sets his ear to the door into Mr. Henry’s room.”

“What did he contrive to hear?” John asked quickly.

“Why, he says as Coate was in a rare tweak with Mr. Henry, calling him a paper-skulled gabster, and cursing him something wicked for having gone next or nigh Squire. ‘Didn’t I tell you I wouldn’t have no trouble made, you mouth?’ he says. Then Mr. Henry says something as Mr. Huby couldn’t hear, and Coate says, ‘Wait till he’s snuffed it, and the game’s our own!’ he says. ‘You’ll send these damned servants packing, the whole curst set of insolent dotards!’—meaning Mr. Huby, and Mr. Winkfield, and me. ‘You won’t have no trouble over that,’ he says, ‘for they wouldn’t work for you, Henry, not if you was to offer ’em a fortune for to do it!’ Which is true as death,” said Joseph meditatively. “Myself, I’d as soon drive a hack—or worse!”

“Yes, and then?”