To Mr Drelincourt’s horror, he thrust forward his sword hilt and patted it. That unfortunate gentleman licked his lips and said quaveringly: “I shall not fight you, sir. The brooch is more mine than yours!”
“Hand it over!” said Lethbridge.
Mr Drelincourt hesitated, read a look in his lordship’s face there was no mistaking, and slowly inserted his finger and thumb into his waistcoat pocket. The next moment the brooch lay in Lethbridge’s hand.
“Thank you, Crosby,” he said, in a way that made Mr Drelincourt long for the courage to hit him. “I thought I should be able to persuade you. You may now resume your journey to Meering—if you think it still worth while. If you don’t—you may join me at the Sun in Maidenhead, where I propose to dine and sleep. I almost feel I owe you a dinner for spoiling your game so unkindly.” He turned, leaving Mr Drelincourt speechless with indignation, and walked back to his chaise, which had by this time drawn up to the side of the road, facing towards London again. He climbed lightly into it and drove off, airily waving his hand to Mr Drelincourt, still standing in the dusty road.
Mr Drelincourt gazed after him, rage seething up in him. Spoiled his game, had he? There might be two words to that! He hurried back to his own chaise, saw the looks of rich enjoyment on the postilions’ faces, and swore at them to drive on.
It was only six miles to Meering from the Thicket, but by the time the chaise turned in at the Lodge gates it was close on six o’clock. The house was situated a mile from the gates, in the middle of a very pretty park, but Mr Drelincourt was in no mood to admire the fine oaks, and rolling stretches of turf, and sat in a fret of impatience while his tired horses drew him up the long avenue to the house.
He found his cousin and Mr Gisborne lingering over their port in the dining-room, which apartment was lit by candles. It might be broad daylight outside, but my lord had a constitutional dislike of dining by day, and excluded it by having the heavy curtains drawn across the windows.
Both he and Mr Gisborne were in riding-dress. My lord was lounging in a high-backed chair at the head of the table, one leg, encased in a dusty top-boot, thrown negligently over the arm. He looked up as the footman opened the door to admit Mr Drelincourt, and for a moment sat perfectly still, the look of good humour fading from his face. Then he picked up his quizzing-glass with some deliberation, and surveyed his cousin through it. “Dear me!” he said. “Now why?”
This was not a very promising start, but his anger had chased from Mr Drelincourt’s mind all memory of his last meeting with the Earl, and he was undaunted. “Cousin,” he said, his words tripping over one another. “I am here on a matter of grave moment. I must beg a word with you alone!”
“I imagine it must indeed be of grave moment to induce you to come over thirty miles in pursuit of me,” said his lordship.