“Look’ee, sir, I’m by way of being interested in a catskin waistcoat myself! Are you sure it was at Wroxham you saw it?”
“A catskin waistcoat on its way to Bristol,” said Sir Richard dreamily.
“Bristol! Damme, I never thought—I thank you, Sir Richard! I thank you very much indeed!” said Captain Trimble, and plunged down the passage leading to the stable-yard at the back of the inn.
Sir Richard watched him go, a faint, sweet smile on his lips. “There, now!” he murmured. “An impetuous gentleman, I fear. Let it be a lesson to you, brat, not to confide too much in strangers.”
“I didn’t!” said Pen. “I merely—”
“But he did,” Sir Richard said. “A few chance words let fall from my tongue, and our trusting acquaintance is already calling for his horse. I want my breakfast.”
“But why have you sent him to Bristol?” Pen demanded.
“Well, I wanted to get rid of him,” he replied, strolling into the parlour.
“I thought you were trying to pick a quarrel with him.”
“I was, but he unfortunately recognized me. A pity. It would have given me a good deal of pleasure to have put him to sleep. However, I dare say it has all turned out for the best. I should have been obliged to have tied him up somewhere, which would have been a nuisance, and might have led to future complications. I shall be obliged to leave you for a short space this morning, by the way.”