But no sooner do these thoughts rush through her brain than the utter impossibility of compassing the one, or of performing the other, undetected, if even with her life, and she so at the mercy of these cut-throats, comes to steady her, and she realizes that her only part is to get away as fast as she may, and unseen if she can.
Meantime Sir Robin concludes his bargain with the two desperadoes, and as they withdraw into their haunt, and he turns on his heel, he espies Lady Peggy rounding the corner with her bundle under her arm. The little Baronet with a sidelong glance in at the hallway to make sure his men are out of sight, darts to the opposite side of the court on tiptoe, and then, putting hands to mouth, calls across softly, but clearly, in a tone half of joy, half anger.
“Mr. Incognito! Mr. Incognito! Ho! I say, Incognito!”
Peg stops short. ’Twere wiser perhaps to try to discover what had put Sir Robin McTart up to the murder.
“By Gad, Sir!” cries this one, making a dash now over to Peg’s side of the way. “Here have I scoured the town for you day and night, and no trace of you anywhere! ‘Incognito’ me no more, Sir! Who are you, Sir? Damme! I’ll stand no more such nonsense!” Sir Robin’s valor’s thoroughly based on the knowledge that, were blade to be unsheathed to his hurt, he could and would shout for his hirelings to the rescue.
’Twas the first and only time in his life that he was ever known to urge, or even hint, a quarrel in propria persona.
“I’ll ‘incognito’ you to the end of the chapter, Sir Robin McTart,” answers Lady Peggy, clapping hand to hilt.
“Very well, Sir, very well,” says the Baronet, reflecting that another corpse might cost him ten guineas more, ere he were done with it; and besides yearning for the news of His Lady which he thinks he may glean. “I’ve small stomach for fightin’ any man. Religion don’t teach us that lesson, but ’tis a devilish trick you’ve played me, Sir.”
“In what way, Sir? Out with it,” replies Peggy.
“You, Sir, sent me to Kennaston a-seeking Lady Peggy Burgoyne, Sir; she was from home, and not a word else could I buy or wring out of her servant’s cursed mouth. Then I hied to Kent, believing, from your fine messages to me from Her Ladyship, that she must be there at her godmother’s. No, Sir! she was not; nor could any one tell but that she was at Kennaston Castle for all they knew. Back in town post-haste, I seek Lark Lane, where her brother lodges, so I had heard, only to learn that he has gone to stop with Sir Percy de Bohun, in Charlotte Street.”