“Oh yes!” said Pen, with a beautiful disregard for the truth.
They were standing in the taproom, which, at that hour of the morning, was empty, and just as Pen was beginning to say that she wanted her breakfast, the landlady came through the door leading from the kitchen, and asked them if they had heard the news.
“What news?” Pen asked uneasily.
“Why, everyone’s in quite a pucker up at Wroxhall, us being quiet folk, and not used to town-ways. But there’s my boy Jim come in saying there’s one of they Bow Street Runners come down by the Mail. What he may want, surely to goodness there’s none of us knows! They do say as how he stopped off at Calne, and come on easy-like to Wroxhall. And there he be, poking his nose into respectable houses, and asking all manner of questions! Well, what I say is, we’ve nothing to hide, and he may come here if he pleases, but he will learn nothing.”
“Is he coming here?” asked Pen, in a faint voice.
“Going to all the inns hereabout, by what they tell me,” responded the landlady. “Jim took the notion into his head it’s all along of the stage-coach which you and your good uncle was on, sir, for seemingly he’s been asking a mort of questions about the passengers. Our Sam looks to see him here inside of half an hour. “Well,” I says, “let him come, for I’m an honest woman, and there’s never been a word said against the house, not to my knowledge!” Your breakfast will be on the table in ten minutes, sir.”
She bustled into the parlour, leaving Pen rather pale, and Jimmy Yarde suddenly thoughtful. “Runners, eh?” said that worthy, stroking his chin. “There now!”
“I have never seen one,” said Pen, with a creditable show of nonchalance. “It will be most interesting. I wonder what he can want?”
“There’s no telling,” replied Jimmy, his lashless eyes dwelling upon her in a considering stare. “No telling at all. Seems to me, though, he won’t be wanting a flash young chub like you.”
“Why, of course not!” replied Pen, forcing a laugh.