The host's countenance had assumed a mysterious look. His whole aspect had an air of mystery. He laid his finger upon the side of his nose, as men do for a practical exemplification of the process which is taking place in their mind when they are putting "that and that" together. He half closed one eye also, as if to give an indication to the beholders that whatever might be the mental light in his own brain, it should not escape for the illumination of those without. There is a perversity in human nature which makes all men--saving the exceptions that prove the general rule--anxious to discover any thing that is hidden, and consequently both Mr. Hayward and Mr. Beauchamp attacked the worthy landlord, totis viribus, and attempted to wrench from him his secret. He held it fast, however, with both hands, exclaiming,
"No, no, gentlemen, I'll not say a word--it's no business of mine--I've nothing to do with it--it's all guess work, and a man who beers and horses all the neighbourhood, must keep a good tongue in his head. But one thing I will say, just to give you two gentlemen a hint, that perhaps you had better not meddle in this matter, or you may make a mess of it. Sally, is not that chicken ready?" And he called from the door of the room to the bar.
"I certainly shall meddle with it, my good friend," said Ned Hayward, in a determined tone, "and that very soon. I'm not the least afraid of making a mess, as you call it, certain that none of it will fall upon myself. So, as soon as we have got supper, which seems a devilish long time coming, we will set off, Mr. Beauchamp, if you please, for this good magistrate's and try--"
He was interrupted in the midst of his speech, though it had by this time nearly come to a conclusion, by a voice in the passage, exclaiming, "Groomber, Mr. Groomber," and the host instantly vociferated, "Coming, Sir, coming," and rushed out of the room.
The voice was heard to demand, as soon as the landlord appeared blocking up the way, "Have you a person by the name of Beauchamp here?"
"Yes, your worship," replied the host, and after a few more words, in a lower tone, the door of the room was thrown open, and Mr. Wittingham was announced, just as Mr. Beauchamp was observing to his new-found friend, Ned Hayward, that the voice was very like that of the worthy magistrate to whom he had applied.
Mr. Wittingham was a tall and very respectable-looking gentleman, somewhat past the middle age, and verging towards that decline of life which is marked by protuberance of the stomach, and thinness of the legs. But, nevertheless, Mr. Wittingham carried it off very well, for his height diminished the appearance of that which is usually called a corporation, and his legs were skilfully concealed in his top-boots. He was exceedingly neat in his apparel, tolerably rosy in the gills, and having a certain dogmatical peremptory expression, especially about the thick eyebrows and hooknose, which he found wonderfully efficacious in the decision of cases at petty sessions.
The moment he entered the room, he fixed his eyes somewhat sternly upon Mr. Beauchamp (whom we have forgotten to describe as a very gentlemanlike--even distinguished-looking person of about thirty years of age), and addressing him in a rough, and rather uncivil tone, said, "Your name, I think you told me, is Beauchamp, Sir, and you came to lay an information before me against certain persons for stopping a chaise upon the king's highway."
"I am, as you say, Sir, called Beauchamp," replied the other gentleman, "and I waited upon you, as the nearest magistrate, to give information of a crime which had been committed in your neighbourhood which you refused to receive. Do me the honour of taking a seat."
"And pray, Sir, if I may be so bold as to ask, who and what are you?" inquired the magistrate, suffering himself to drop heavily into a chair.