Ten minutes later the coach drew up in Half-Moon Street. Horatia beckoned up her groom and bade him ride his lordship’s horse on to its stable. “And I n-never thanked you, my lord, for rescuing me!” she said. “I am truly very much obliged.”
Lethbridge replied: “And so am I, ma’am, for having been granted the opportunity.” He bowed over her hand. “Till our next meeting,” he said, and stepped down on to the streaming pavement.
The coach moved forward. Lethbridge stood for a moment in the rain, watching it sway up the road towards Curzon
Street and then turned with the faintest shrug of his shoulders and walked up the steps of his house.
The door was held for him by the porter. He said respectfully: “A wet evening, my lord.”
“Very,” said Lethbridge curtly.
“I should tell your lordship that a—a person has called. He arrived but a short time ahead of your lordship, and I have him downstairs, keeping an eye on him.”
“Send him up,” Lethbridge said, and went into the room that overlooked the street.
Here he was joined in a few moments by his visitor, who was ushered into the room by the disapproving porter. He was a burly individual, dressed in a frieze coat, with a slouch hat grasped in one dirty hand. He grinned when he saw Lethbridge and touched his finger to his forelock. “Hoping all’s bowman, your honour, and the leddy none the worse.”
Lethbridge did not reply, but taking a key from his pocket unlocked one of the drawers of his desk and drew out a purse. This he tossed across the room to his guest, saying briefly: “Take it, and be off with you. And remember, my friend, to keep your mouth shut.”