“I appreciate your feelings,” said Sir Richard, “but I would point out to you that your situation is a trifle—shall we say irregular?—and that we have been at considerable pains to excite no undue attention. Hence that abominable stage-coach. The last thing in the world I desire is to see you brought forward as a witness to this affair. If Miss Daubenay does not disclose her share in it, you may yet escape notice, but, to tell you the truth, I place little dependence on Miss Daubenay’s discretion.”
“Oh!” said Pen, digesting this. “You think there may be a little awkwardness if it should be discovered that I am not a boy? Perhaps we had better leave Queen Charlton?”
“No, that would indeed be fatal. We are now committed to this adventure. I am going to inform the local magistrate that I have discovered a corpse in this spinney. As you have encountered Miss Daubenay, upon whose discretion we have decided to place no reliance, I shall mention the fact that you accompanied me upon my evening stroll, and we must trust that no particular notice will be taken of you. By the way, brat, I think you had better become my young cousin—my remote young cousin.”
“Ah!” said Miss Creed, gratified. “My own story!”
“Your own story.”
“Well, I must say I am glad you don’t wish to run away,” she confided. “You cannot conceive how much I am enjoying myself! I dare say it is otherwise with you, but, you see, I have had such a very dull life up till now! And I’ll tell you another thing, Richard: naturally I am very anxious to find Piers, but I think we had better not send any word to him until we have finished this adventure.”
He was silent for a moment. “Are you very anxious to find Piers?” he asked at last.
“Of course I am! Why, that is why we came!”
“Very true. I was forgetting. You will see Piers to-morrow morning, I fancy.”
She got up from the bank. “I shall see him to-morrow? But how do you know?”