“I’ll be damned if I have anything to do with a story like that!” declared Claud indignantly. “Why, I’d never be able to show my face here again!”

“Why should you want to?” said Vincent, who was shaking with laughter. “It’s magnificent, Hugo! Here, Polyphant, take these, and give me Mr. Richmond’s! Claud, there’s no need to look at Richmond’s breeches: all you have to do is to step into them: I’ll even pull ’em up for you! They’ll be a tight fit, but you won’t have to sit down in them: we’ll stretch you out on the sofa!”

Claud, bullied and hustled into his cousin’s obnoxious breeches, was so much incensed that he became quite scarlet in the face as he informed his relatives, in impassioned accents, that nothing would induce him to take part in the proposed drama. “I ain’t handy with my fists, and I don’t like turn-ups, but I ain’t a rum ’un, and I’m damned if I’ll have you two cooking up a story like that about me! Not if you were to offer me a fortune!”

“No one will offer you a fortune, brother,” said Vincent, pushing him on to the sofa, and picking up one of Richmond’s boots. “Pull this on!—all you will be offered, if you don’t do as you’re bid, is a facer heavy enough to send you to sleep while we exhibit you to the Excisemen.”

“Think, lad!” Hugo interposed. “If we’re to hoax Ottershaw, we must have a tale that’s got some likelihood to it, for he’ll not swallow it readily!”

“Likelihood?”gasped Claud. “Well, of all the—”

“Nay, how should he know whether you’re a right one, or a pudding-heart?” said Hugo hastily. “What, you may depend upon it, he does know, is what happened to Ackleton, the night he came up here, and the silly way he’s been blustering ever since about what he’ll do to you, if he gets the chance. Knowing that much for truth, he’ll find it hard to disbelieve the rest surely enough to put our tale to the test—for he knows well that if he were to make a false accusation against Richmond there’d be the devil to pay, and no pitch hot for him!” He paused, and then, as Claud still looked mutinous, added: “It’s no matter if you’re made to look foolish, Claud. If we can’t conceal the truth from Ottershaw, it’s not only Richmond who’ll be laid low, but every Darracott amongst us.”

Richmond said suddenly: “No! You can’t ask Claud to do that! I wouldn’t—I couldn’t!”

“That we believe!” retorted Vincent. “It is possible, however, that Claud cares more for our name than you have given us reason to suppose you do! Come, Claud! what odds does it make to you if a parcel of hicks laughs at you?” He added, rather unfortunately: “They’ve been laughing at you for years!”

The astonished gratification with which Claud had listened to the first part of this speech changed rapidly. A mulish look came into his face, and he was just about to deliver himself of a flat refusal to sacrifice himself for the sake of any family of which his brother was a member, when Polyphant, engaged in tieing the neckcloth round Richmond’s neck, saved the situation by saying: “If I may take the liberty, Mr. Vincent, I venture to say—with the greatest deference, sir!—that Mr. Claud is equal to anything!”

Claud wavered. Anthea came back into the room at that moment, and was not unnaturally staggered to find him sketchily attired in her brother’s blood-stained breeches, and topboots. The reason for this peculiar transformation was briefly explained to her, whereupon she instantly threw herself into the obviously necessary task of persuading Claud to immolate himself. Without allowing him an opportunity to speak, she thanked him with so much warmth as to make it extremely hard for him to disabuse her mind of its apparent conviction that he had consented. By the time she had marvelled at his nobility, prophesied the reverence with which he would for ever afterwards be regarded by them all, and declared her positive belief in his ability to carry the thing off to admiration, Claud had become so far reconciled to the scheme as to raise no further objection to it.

Polyphant, who had come into his own with the necessity of arraying Richmond in his borrowed plumage, then called upon the Major to assist him in the task of getting him into Claud’s coat. It was plain that he was revelling in the affair, but only he knew the cause of his elation; and none could have guessed that while his nimble fingers coped with shoestrings, buttons, and neckcloth, his mind was filled with the vision of himself triumphant beyond his wildest dreams over the odious Crimplesham. Crimplesham might never learn just what had taken place on this fateful evening, but Crimplesham would know, like everyone else, that there had been very strange goings-on from which he had been rigorously excluded, with such insignificant persons as the footmen, while his rival had been in the thick of it, the trusted confidant of even his own master. And if Crimplesham tried to discover what had happened, Polyphant had every intention of proving himself worthy of the trust reposed in him by replying that his lips were sealed, which would undoubtedly infuriate Crimplesham very much indeed.

“Now, sir!” he said, with the authority of one who knew himself to be an expert, “if you will be so obliging as to do precisely what I shall request you to do, I trust I shall be able to manage to put Mr. Richmond into both waistcoat and coat—you will observe that I have placed one within the other—without causing him to feel too much discomfort, and without disturbing your handiwork, sir. From you, Mr. Richmond, I wish for no assistance at all. Do not attempt, I most earnestly implore you, to shrug your sound shoulder into the garment! You will please to leave it entirely to me. Fortunately, you are of slighter build than Mr. Claud: indeed, we must hope that the Riding-officer is not a person of ton (if you will pardon the jest!), and so will not think your coat sadly ill-fitting, must we not?”

Talking chattily all the time, he began to ease Richmond into the coat. Claud, watching him with a jaundiced eye, expressed his conviction that he was going about it in quite the wrong way; but the Major meekly obeyed such instructions as he was given; and by the time Chollacombe came into the room the difficult feat had been performed with a competence that drew a Well-done! from the Major. Polyphant bowed his acknowledgment, saying that he would now slip upstairs to collect one of Mr. Claud’s black silk socks. “For it occurs to me, sir, that a few snips with the scissors will make it a tolerable mask, and we must not forget, must we, that Mr. Richmond’s face was blackened? So you will pardon me if I now absent myself for a very few moments!”

He then departed, sped on his way by a bitter recommendation from his master to ruin a few more of his garments while he was about it.

The Major picked up his own coat, and had just shrugged himself into it when Anthea, whose hearing was very acute, caught the sound of hoof-beats, and said sharply: “Listen! Hugo, they’re coming!”

“Well, we could have done with another few minutes, but happen we’ll make shift without them,” he responded calmly. “Vincent, go up to the drawing-room before they start knocking on the door—or, if his lordship’s come down to the library, join him there! You’ve been writing letters—anything you choose!—and you’ve not been next or nigh the rest of us. Keep Ottershaw brangling with the old gentleman: that oughtn’t to be difficult! I must see Claud bandaged up, and the scene well set, and then I’ll part, but make me tell you why I want to speak privately to you! Quick, man! Here they are!” He fairly thrust Vincent from the room, and turned to Chollacombe. “Not in too much of a hurry to open the door to them!” he warned him. “You’re not expecting any such visitors, so you may look as surprised as you please, but take you look affronted too! Treat them just as you would any vulgar person who came here asking impertinent questions—not that I think they’ll ask you any. All I want of you is that you shall bear it in mind that Mr. Claud has met with an accident, which is no business of any Exciseman, and that Mr. Richmond and I have been playing cards here all the evening. Don’t take them straight to his lordship: shut them into the Green Saloon, and say you’ll inform his lordship! Mr. Vincent will take care he don’t refuse to see them. Once you’ve taken them to the drawing-room, don’t show yourself again!”

“Have no fear, sir!” said Chollacombe. “I trust I know how to depress the pretensions of such persons who know no better than to hammer on the door of a gentleman’s residence in that ill-mannered fashion!”

The knocker had certainly been somewhat violently plied, and the effect of this solecism on Chollacombe was all that the Major could have desired. At one moment a very shaken old man, he stiffened at the next into the personification of outraged dignity, and, with a slow and stately tread, left the room, and proceeded down the broad passage that led through an archway into the central hall.

Hugo shut the door, and cast a swift, measuring look at Richmond, seated at the table, and resting his left arm on it. Richmond was very pale, but his eyes were alert, and he met his cousin’s searching glance with a confident smile. “I shall do!” he said.

“Ay, you’ll do, you scamp! Give him some more brandy, love!” said the Major, picking up the bowl of reddened water, and setting it down on the floor beside the sofa.

“I shall be foxed if I drink any more,” Richmond warned him.

“I want you to be foxed, lad—just about half-sprung! Not so drunk that you’ll say what you shouldn’t, but drunk enough to look as if you might be. That’ll be reason enough why you should stay sprawling in your chair.” He turned his head as the door opened, and for an instant it seemed to Anthea that he stiffened. But it was only Polyphant who entered the room, with his tripping gait, and delicately dropped a maltreated sock beside the horrid pile of Richmond’s clothing. The Major said: “I’m more obliged to you than I can say, Polyphant. The moment the coast is clear, off with you! I don’t want you to get tangled up in this business, so stand out now—and thank you!”