“That’s right, Barclay. I know you have wires all over the place, and can pull them. You started Moggridge, and I suppose, if the truth’s known, you could arrange for a post-chaise to break down anywhere you pleased.”
“Your lordship gives me credit for being quite a magician,” said Barclay drily. “However, I’ll promise you this: Claire Denville shan’t come to harm if Josiah Barclay can save her.”
“Thank you, Barclay,” said Lord Carboro’ softly. “I’ve not forgotten how she refused those pearls.”
“And cheated me out of a score of good jewel transactions with your lordship,” said Barclay, handing him a slip of paper and a pen, which the old nobleman took and signed in Lady Drelincourt’s full view. “You trust to me, my lord. I’ll make all the inquiries necessary, and communicate with you to-night.”
There was a little mock exchange of papers, and then, pocket-book in hand, Lord Carboro’ turned to Lady Drelincourt.
“I have finished my business,” he said. “Shall I attend you down to your chair?”
As the couple went out of the room with her ladyship mincing and simpering, and giving herself airs, Barclay uttered a low growl.
“I believe that old woman would make love to a mummy or a stone statue if she couldn’t meet with a man. How I do hate the old wretch to be sure!”
“Now look here, Jo-si-ah,” exclaimed Mrs Barclay, entering the room. “I won’t have it, though I don’t believe it’s true.”
“Don’t believe what’s true?”