Meanwhile, the wretched cat’s-paw felt himself the man of destiny. On some subjects he might chatter freely, but he preserved an iron discretion where Sir John enjoined it. To any member who pressed a question he was reassuring but gave no details. “We’ve gagged Lechworthy all right” was a favourite phrase with him. “You can sleep in your beds.”
He did not mention Lechworthy to the new member, for so far he had no reason to be proud of the subject. But what Mr Pentwin did not hear from the Rev. Cyril Mast he heard at length from Lord Charles Baringstoke, who had no more discretion than the club parrot.
“Lechworthy—you must have heard of him,” said Lord Charles. “Portmanteaux and piety, you know. He’s a G.T. at present, with a pretty niece with him. Funny his bargin’ in here, ain’t it?”
“And where did you say he was living?”
Lord Charles closed one eye impressively. “No use, young man. The same idea had occurred to me, but there isn’t a girl in an English high-class boarding-school who’s quite so well looked after as Lechworthy’s Hilda. She’s up at the King’s house, and you are not invited to inspect the goods.”
“How do you mean?”
“Tell you what happened to myself. I thought I’d have a look, just to see if anything could be done. I never said a word to a soul but I went off on my own. The garden of the place is surrounded by a scraggy hedge standing on the top of a high bank, and it occurred to me that there was a chance the girl might be walking or sitting out in the garden. So I climbed up the bank and looked through the hedge. I didn’t see the girl, but I did see four natives with rifles. Smith has got a young army of them up there, and they are picked smart men. I never thought I could be seen, but I suppose I moved the bushes or something. As their rifles went up to their shoulders I dropped and rolled down the bank. If I’d not done that I should have been jewelled in four holes, like Sweetling’s presentation watch that he’s so proud of. You leave it alone, my son. It’s not healthy.”
“You never tried sending in a native with a note for the girl?” suggested Pentwin.
“It’s like this. There’s a pack of servants there, and there are the gents with rifles. But to every other native the place is taboo. There’s not enough tobacco and coloured shirts in the world to bribe a native to try to get in. You might get a boy to go as far as the entrance and holloa. The guard would turn up, and he could hand over his letter. But the chances are that the letter would go straight to the King, or to Uncle Lechworthy, or to the doctor—who’s a bit of a boss there just now.”