Pen sat drinking it all in, with her eyes growing rounder and rounder, until Sir Richard said that it was time she was in bed. He escorted her out of the parlour to the foot of the stairs, where she whispered to him in the tone of one who has made a great discovery: “Dear sir, I don’t believe he is a respectable person!”
“No,” said Sir Richard. “I don’t believe it either.”
“But is he a thief?” asked Pen, shocked.
“I should think undoubtedly. Which is why you will lock your door, my child. Is it understood?”
“Yes, but are you sure you will be safe? It would be dreadful if he were to cut your throat in the night!”
“It would indeed,” Sir Richard agreed. “But I can assure you he won’t. You may take this for me, if you will, and keep it till the morning.”
He put his heavy purse into her hand. She nodded. “Yes, I will. You will take great care, will you not?”
“I promise,” he said, smiling. “Be off now, and don’t tease yourself over my safety!”
He went back to the parlour, where Jimmy Yarde awaited him. Being called upon to join Mr Yarde in a glass of daffy, he raised not the slightest objection, although he very soon suspected Jimmy of trying to drink him under the table. As he refilled the glasses for the third time, he said apologetically: “Perhaps I ought to warn you that I am accounted to have a reasonably strong head. I should not like you to waste your time, Mr Yarde.”
Jimmy was not at all abashed. He grinned, and said: “Ah, I said you was a peevy cull! Knowed it as soon as I clapped my daylights on to you. You learned to drink Blue Ruin in Cribb’s parlour!”