“Damme, dear boy, I’ve known you from m’ cradle, but I never heard of any relative of yours called Brown! What’s the game?”
“If I had guessed that you were so interested in the ramifications of my family, Cedric, I would have informed you of Pen’s existence.”
The waiter, interested, but unable to prolong his labours in the parlour, slowly and sadly withdrew.
“Something devilish queer about this!” pronounced Cedric, with a shake of his head. “Something at the back of my mind, too. Where’s that burgundy?”
“Well, I thought at first that I had met you before,” offered Pen. “But that was because of your likeness to the stam—to the other Mr Brandon.”
“Don’t tell me you knew him!” exclaimed Cedric.
“Not very well. We happened to meet him here.”
“I’ll tell you what, my lad: he was no fit company for a suckling like you,” said Cedric severely. He frowned upon her again, but apparently abandoned the effort to recall the errant memory, and turned back to Sir Richard. “But your cousin don’t explain your being here, Ricky. Damme, what did bring you to this place?”
“Chance,” replied Sir Richard. “I was—er—constrained to escort my cousin to this neighbourhood, upon urgent family affairs. Upon the way, we encountered an individual who was being pursued by a Bow Street Runner—your Runner, Ceddie—and who slipped a certain necklace into my cousin’s pocket.”
“You don’t mean it! But did you know Bev was here?”