“Young Conway, the one-armed fellow?”
“Just so. The other is, to get hold of Dunn's papers. Now, I have despatched a trusty hand to the Crimea to see about the first of these plans. As for the other, I 'll do it myself.”
“How so?”
“Just this way: you shall give me a written authority to demand from Dunn all your family papers and documents, making me out to be your agent for the Irish estates.” Beecher started, and a slight cast of derision marked his lip; but there was that in Grog's face that speedily suppressed every temptation to sneer, and he grew sick with terror. “Dunn will be for holding out,” resumed Davis. “He 'll be for writing to yourself for explanations, instructions, and so forth; and if I were a fellow of his own sort, I 'd have to agree; but, being what I am,—Kit Davis, you see,—I'll Just say: 'No gammon, my old gent. We don't mean to lose this match, nor don't mean to let you nobble us. Be on the square, and it will be all the better for yourself.' We 'll soon understand each other.”
A gentle tap at the door here interrupted Davis, and Beecher's servant, with a most bland voice, said, “Her Ladyship is waiting breakfast, my Lord,” and disappeared.
“Who told him?” asked Beecher, a strange sense of pleasure vibrating through him as this recognition reminded him of his newly acquired station.
“I told him last night,” said Davis, with a look that seemed to say, “And of whatever I do, let there be no farther question.”
As they entered the breakfast-room, they found Lizzy—I must ask pardon if I return at times to their former names in speaking of her and her husband—in conversation with Mr. Twining, that gentleman having presented himself, and explained how he came to be there.
“Do you know Captain Davis, Twining? Let me present him to you,” said Beecher, blushing deeply as he spoke.
“Charmed, my Lord,—much honored,—fancy we have met before,—met at York Spring Meet. Rataplan beat by a neck,—great fun!”